The Wickedness of My Green Face II
by PhantomoftheCafetorium
Summary: The Wickedness of My Green Face has been resurrected! Phantom of the Opera characters are the Wicked ones again, and it's all still utterly insane!
1. No One Mourns the Weasly

**Hiya Peoples! You've probably noticed that this doesn't look the same as before. I rewrote it in a new format so now FFN won't take it down again. It's a bit different than the original, but hopefully it's just as good. So without further ado (Whatever the heck that means) I present to you, The Wickedness of My Green Face, Resurrected.**

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_Disclaimer: _I still don't own _Wicked_, _Phantom of the Opera_, _Harry Potter_, _Monty Python_, or anything else.

**Chapter One: No One Mourns the Wicked**

G(a)linda- Raoul

Witch's Father- Auctioneer

Witch's Mother- Meg (A/N: She'll show up in other scenes, too)

Midwife- Porter Dude

"Good news! He's dead! The Phantom of the Opera is dead! The most homicidal ghost there ever was, the enemy of all of us here in Paris is dead! Good news! Good news!" Somehow, all of the random people assembled in the opera house all knew the same song, which they were singing simultaneously.

"Look! It's Raoul!" Someone in the Crowd shouted. And indeed it was. Coming down the stairs to the main floor of the opera house was Raoul de Chagny, the Good Patron of the Opera.

"Fellow Parisians," he began, and everyone immediately lost interest. Any speech of his beginning with the words "Fellow" and "Parisians" promised to be long-winded and phenomenally boring. But since he was keeping a steady flow of money rolling in, everyone pretended to pay attention. "Let us be glad. Let us be grateful. Let us rejoicify that goodness could subdue the homicidal workings of You-Know-Who!"

"AHHHHHH! It's him! We're all gonna die! It's Voldemort!" screamed Ron Weasly, who had somehow managed to show up in the wrong story. "AHHHHHH! I said his name! I'm gonna die!" With this realization, he fainted on the spot.

There was a brief silence, but it was broken by the yelling of some guy with a cart full of dead bodies and a heavy British accent. "Bring outcha dead! Bring outcha dead! Bring outcha dead! Ninepence."

"Does anyone have ninepence?" A girl named Aradia wanted to know.

"Why would we have ninepence? We're in Paris!"

"I have ninepence!"

Promptly, the very fake and plastic coin was given to the guy with a cart full of dead bodies and a heavy British accent, and Ron's body was thrown onto the cart. "I feel… Happy!" He said, only to be hit over the head with the guy with a cart full of dead bodies and a heavy British accent's gong.

While all of this was going on, Raoul had continued to drone on. "Isn't it nice to know that money will conquer music? The truth we all believe'll by and by outlive a lie for you and-"

"No one mourns the deformed!" Yelled Someone in the Crowd.

"No one cries: "They won't return!" Added Another Person.

"No one lays a lily on their grave!"

"Shouldn't that be 'his or her' grave?"

"Yes, but that doesn't exactly roll of the tongue, does it?"

"Sure it does!"

"No one asked you, Marius."

"Whoa, where did Les Mis come from?"

"Some old dead French guy's brain."

"Never mind, let's just continue the song."

"Okay."

"The good man scorns the social reject!"

"Through their lives our children learn what we miss when we misbehave…"

"And goodness (aka money) knows the Phantom's life was lonely. Goodness (aka money) knows the Phantom died alone. It just shows when you murder, you're left only on your own." Continued Raoul in a monotone.

"Yes, goodness knows the Phantom's life was lonely. Goodness knows the Phantom cries alone. Nothing grows for the Phantom; he reaps only what he's sown..." 

"Why are we discussing the planting habits of agriculture and its effect on the growth?"

"Beats me. Whoever wrote this song must have been running out of things to rhyme with 'alone.' "

"Are people born deformed?"

"Yes." 

"Or do they have deformation thrust upon them? After all, he had a father. He had a mother, as so many do…"

The Overture to _Phantom of the Opera_ began to play, and an overhead projector screen descended slowly from the ceiling. The lights turned off, and everyone told everyone else to shut up because the movie was starting.

"How I hate to go and leave you lonely," began the Auctioneer on the screen.

"That's alright; It's only just one night," Meg replied.

"But know that you're here in my heart while I'm out of your sight…"

"And like every family, they had their secrets." Everyone knew it was Raoul because he was the only one who still doesn't get that you're not supposed to talk during movies.

"Have another drink, my dark-eyed beauty. I've got one more night left here in town, so have another drink of green elixir, and we'll have ourselves a little mixer. Have another little swallow, little lady, and follow me down…" said Meg's lover.

"And of course, from the moment she was born, she was, well, different." It was Raoul again.

"It's coming," said the Porter. "Ha! I have more lines than 'showing here'!"

"Now?"

"No, I was kidding. It's coming next Tuesday!" replied the Porter sarcastically. "The baby's coming!"

"And how?"

"How do you _think?_"

"Hey, I'm just reading my lines. See, I'm not actually married to Meg, I just play the part!"

"Uh-huh. I see a nose, I see a curl, it's a healthy, perfect, lovely, little-"

"Holy crap!" Cried the Auctioneer.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"How can it be?"

"What does it mean?" 

"It's atrocious!"

"It's obscene!"

"Like a froggy ferny cabbage, the baby is unnaturally-,"

"Deformed!" everyone screamed.

"Take it away! Take it away!"

"So you see, it couldn't have been easy!" Announced Raoul as the lights turned back on and everyone else said something along the lines of "Ah! My eyes! The light! It burns!"

"No one mourns the deformed, now at last, he's dead and gone. Now at last, there's joy throughout the land. And goodness knows we know what goodness is. Goodness knows the social rejects die alone, hence the term 'social reject'."

"He died alone…" 

"Woe to those who spurn what goodnesses they are shown. No one mourns the homicidal!"

"Good news!"

"No one mourns the homicidal!"

"Good news!"

"No one mourns the homicidal!

Deformed!

Angel!"

"Hey, where did 'Angel' come from?"

"He was the Angel of Music. He deserves some credit for that, doesn't he?"

"Sure, why not. It's not like the song wasn't screwed up to begin with."

"Why are we even celebrating that he's dead, anyway? He made Carlotta croak! Literally. Not croak as in... You know what I mean!"

"Once again, Marius, no one asked you."

"Yah, well no one asked _you,_ either!"

"No one asked you to say that no one asked me."

"No one asked you to say that no one asked me to say that no one asked you… or something like that."

"Just shut up. No one asked either of you."

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((A/N: Okay. I'm done. Finally. I am kind of sick of the number of times I have written out this song. But I hope you liked it anyway! Please review so that I know to continue. And thanks to those of you who reviewed before! Anyone who reviews this time will get a reply next chapter! So yah. Review! Hey, do you think I've said the word 'review' enough? coughreviewcough)) 


	2. FlashbackProne Auctions

**We know what's going on with everyone's favorite Phantom, so now it's time to realize that if the Phantom characters are singing _No One Mourns the Wicked/Phantom_, then what are the Wicked characters doing? Yup, you got it. The Midwife and Frex are trying to auction off Elphaba's Grimmery.**

**Chapter II: Flashback-Prone Auctions**

"Sold! Your number, Sir? Thank you," said Frex, father of the infamous Wicked Witch of the West, who was in charge of auctioning off the remnants of the items left in the long-forsaken Shiz University. What used to be a grand college was now abandoned ruins infested with rats and cobwebs. In fact, the only room that was still standing was the cafetorium, where the auction was being held. "Lot 665, then, ladies and gentlemen, a really old boring textbook-looking thing that smells like cereal."

"Showing here," added the Midwife, showing off the Grimmery, and then opening it up, only to have her head engulfed by a cloud of dust and begin coughing her head off. After a short time, she began to suffer an allergy attack and fainted on the spot.

"Starting at fifteen Emeraldz," continued Frex.

"Shouldn't we do something about the Midwife?" Asked Madame Morrible.

"Naw. The Guy with a Cart Full of Dead Bodies and a Heavy British Accent will pick her up when he comes by on Thursday." Everyone took this as an acceptable answer, and the Grimmery was eventually auctioned off for thirty Emeraldz to Glinda, the Witch de South. After Lot 665, everyone decides to have a five-minute break, and the elderly witch goes off to the side so that she can sing to the textbook without anyone noticing that she is attempting communication with inanimate objects.

"A collector's book, indeed

Every detail exactly as she said…

She often spoke of you, my friend

Your illegible spells that never seem to work and ended up turning Fiyero into straw

And your stench of cereal

Will your spells work when all the rest of us have been killed off/are missing due to a variety of reasons…"

By the time she was finished, the auction was back in session. "Lot 666, a broom in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Wicked Witch of the West, a mystery never fully explained. We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the exact broom that figured in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it, and wired parts of it for the new electric microwave, so that you can fix nutritional snacks whilst cleaning up the house." He gestured to the broom, which was on a stand, covered. "Gentlemen?"

The moment he spoke, the broom shot up from under its cover, and proceeded to shoot straight to the ceiling. A cackle that seemed to come from everywhere at once echoed around the room, and the place was thrown into Flashback Mode. The trademark cackle continued into an all-out Evil Laugh, and Shiz University seemed to come back to life. The tables in the Cafetorium were pushed to the sides, leaving room for a rehearsal in progress. The fluorescent lights came on in a wave, and finally, students at the University entered and took their places in rehearsal.

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**Fiyero's POV**

"This trophy from our saviors from the enslaving force of Rome!" Announced Boq, at the top of his lungs and brandishing a fake decapitated head. What should have taken about five seconds to sing took about five hours because of all his unnecessary cadenzas. When he was quite finished, the rest of us in the guy's chorus broke into song.

"With feasting and dancing and song..."

Then the dudettes' chorus took over.

"The trumpets ... Hannibal comes!"

Then that one chick in the wheelchair came in a quavered, "Sad to return to find the land we love

Threatened once more by Rome's far-reaching grasp."

Or at least, that's what I assume she said, as that Nessa chick isn't exactly the best singer in the café. Or, for that matter, the loudest tuba in the jazz band. And I wasn't the only one who couldn't hear her (though I probably _was_ the only one making up all these random analogies); Professor Reyer was just about to get all lectury about stage voices versus choir voices or whatever (hey, it's not like I actually _listen_ to his lectures), when the Headmistress interrupted. She just came waltzing through the middle of the stage, and you could tell it was seriously annoying Reyer. Following her was a Goat, a guy in a tacky plaid tie, and a chick in pink who seemed oddly familiar.

"Now that I have your attention, ya hooligans," began our partially deaf headmistress, "I would like to make an announcement. I have finally taken my own advice, and am retiring. You kids've stolen my walking stick one too many times. These are your new headmasters, Dr. Dillamond and the Wizard." She gestured to the Goat and the guy with the tie.

Avaric, one of my friends, who had slipped away during rehearsal, was back. He tossed me an orange soda he had nicked while and said, "Hey, Fiyero, did Lefévre just say our new headmasters are a Goat and a guy named 'the Wizard'?"

"Yah. What's up with _that_?" I asked.

He shrugged as we got back into position and rehearsal resumed. "Shiz is a screwed up place." We had to quit talking when the chorus began again.

"Bid welcome ... Hannibal comes!"

We held out the last note to its proper length, but the moment it was over, chaos reigned. All of my friends drifted over to Avaric and me to drink our soda while Reyer attempted to get Lefévre out of the cafetorium, or at least off of the stage.

"Is she new?" I asked, referring to the obviously Gillikin girl dressed in pink.

"Heck if I know," replied Avaric. "Why?"

"She seems familiar, that's all."

"Her name's Galinda," he told me.

"How do you know?"

"Because Lefévre just introduced her to Reyer, that's how."

"Right." I remembered her now; we were friends as kids. But that was a really long time ago, and I doubted she remembered me. I started to space out for a moment, reminiscing.

"Yo, Fiyero, snap out of it, dude! Boq's throwing another hissy!"

"What?" I said automatically, then turned to see Boq a few yards away threatening to quit the musical, as always. I wondered what would happen if he actually did. Lefévre had left the new headmasters to deal with him, and they were currently doing some major sucking up. Finally, they convinced Boq to do his solo, which was his intent in the first place. It was kind of funny how the Munchkin always had to be the center of attention.

"Think of me, think of me fondly..." Etc, we all know the rest, until,

"When you find that once again you long to take your-"

He stopped singing, probably due to the fact that a blood-curdling scream was coming from his mouth. And the scream was probably due to the fact that someone had just distributed a backdrop on his head, and he was currently pinned to the ground on his stomach. This was too much. We all couldn't help but burst out laughing, while Avaric captured the priceless moment on tape with his video camera.

Then Boq began to throw another hissy. But what shocked us was when he actually _did_ leave, this time.

"Professor Reyer, who is the understudy for Boq's role?" asked Dr. Dillamond, the Goat.

"We don't have an understudy; the production is new."

That was a pretty bad excuse, if you ask me, and the headmasters did not take the lack of a star very lightly. They started yelling about having to refund a full house, and using some colorful language that they would probably regret using in front of all of us, later.

"Someone needs to tell them that we're just a college doing a musical, and that tickets are four bucks apiece," Avaric muttered.

Morrible got an evil grin on her face. This started to freak me out, as she absolutely hates me, and she only grins like that when she's about to do something evil to me. (Hence, evil grin). "Fiyero could sing it, Sir." She suggested.

"What, the chorus boy?" asked The Wizard.

"No, the _other_ Fiyero," she said sarcastically. "Of course I mean the chorus boy! He's been well taught."

"Well, come on then. From the beginning of the aria."

I swear, that guy's fake Winkie accent was starting to get on my nerves. And who says "aria," anyway? Glaring daggers at Morrible, I went up to the mike, and hoped I wasn't about to make a fool of myself.

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A/N: Thank you to all of my reviewers! I hope you liked this chapter from Fiyero's point of view! Sorry this took so long for me to post, but my stupid muse was hibernating or something, because I have been inspiration-less for days. Bad Scorn Ayesha Malky:Attempts inflict pain upon a certain Siamese cat muse, but fails, as my muse kind of lives in my brain: Yah, I'm okay. 

BTW: Emeraldz are Ozian currency. Why? Because I say so. So there. But anyway, please review! I promise the next chapter will be up sooner, now that I know what I'm going to do (MWAHAHAHAHA!)

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**Nota Lone:** Thanks for reviewing and reading my insanity! 

**TheGreatSporkWeilder:** So happy you like it! (I love your pen name, by the way! Sporks and penguins rock! Don't ask where the penguins came from)

**BroadwayUnderstudy13:** Yay! Omg, Azriel, you're on FFN! Quite a bit different than the original version that I wrote backwards in my notebook, isn't it?

**PhantomoftheIcoplex:** Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked it!


	3. Dear Old Populaire

**Yo-ness, People! Time for another update! Not sure how well this chapter is going to turn out… _Dear Old Shiz_ isn't exactly the longest Harry Potter book in the library. Hm, looks like Fiyero and my analogies are getting worse by the second. Oh well.**

_Disclaimer_: Well, actually, I had this one dream last week where I owned- :is cut off by Scorn Ayesha Malky, yes, the cat muse, who says: She doesn't own _Wicked_ or _Phantom_.

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**Chapter III: Dear Old Populaire**

After the celebration of the death of the Phantom of the Opera, everyone took a break for lunch. Raoul found himself seated nearby a group of ballet rats who were inhaling cheeseburgers and fries. Just as he bit into his tuna sandwich, a rat by the name of Meg came up to him and asked, "Hey, Raoul! Is it true you were Erik's friend?"

"SPEAK NOT THE NAME OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED!" Everyone in the auditorium yelled in unison, as they had been taught.

"Fine. Raoul, is it true you were He-Who-I'm-Not-Going-to-Name-Because-I-Don't-Like-Being-Yelled-at-by-Forty-Gazillion-People's friend?" she asked impatiently.

"Of course not!" He sang (think _Notes_), making everyone within a ten-mile radius flinch. "No, seriously, why would I be friends with _him?"_

At that moment a raven flew in and dropped a note on his head. This caused everyone to shut up because they were all trying to figure out how a raven could fly down into a building with a ceiling. The Vicomte broke the scarlet seal and extracted a letter written in black ballpoint pen. He read aloud:

"Yo, Fop, stick to the script or I'll be forced to turn you into a human hotdog like I did to Rory. Oh, and could you bring me one of those burgers? I'm kind of hungry, and you have yet to pay my weekly allotment of junk food. I remain, Vicomte, your obedient dictator, CG."

After this strange announcement, people began to talk again. The raven proceeded to peck at Raoul's tuna sandwich, but then spat it out and decided to leave the celebration because everyone knows ravens don't like tuna. De Chagny glared at the bird as it disappeared through the ceiling (we'll just say it's a magic raven, okay?), and then began his reply to Meg again.

"Yah, sure, if you call it a friendship, it was a weird one. And it was way back when I was at the Opera Populaire and was young and stupid."

"Aye, now you're just stupid," muttered one of the other ballet rats.

The Vicomte in question moved his glare to the rat, and was about to reply, but was cut off by everyone else breaking into song (they tend to do this quite a bit, so get used to it. It's not called a musical for nothing.) "O really long halls and faded walls, the ugliest sight there is. When we can get our yo-yos strung, we shall still revere the operas sung in our days at dear old Populaire. Our days at dear old…

"You ran out of things that rhymed with sung, didn't you?" said Raoul.

"Hey, at least our version sounds slightly decent. I bet you couldn't come up with decent lyrics on the spot!" Retorted Kali.

"Yes I can. Watch: Oh-oh-oh-oh-old…"

"I rest my case."

"Can we finish the song?" asked Marius.

"Who died and made you Person in Charge of Moving this Phic Along?"

At this point everyone just wanted to go back to eating lunch, so they interrupted the lovely conversation in favor of Marius, and sang the last line: "Dear old Populairrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre!"

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**Okay, that was kinda short. But it's really hard to stretch out an 11-line song to longer than two Microsoft Word pages. Thanks so much to all of you who have read this far, and thanks especially to my reviewers! You rock!  
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**What's to Come: Fiyero auditioning for Boq's role, and Galinda's POV for the performance of Hannibal.**

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DragonheartRAB: **Yay! E/E rocks! And so do the insane writers who promote it! Go us!

**TheGreatSporkWeilder: **Wow, a Spork of Approval... I hear those are rare... :is reverent:

**Le Fantom De Le Opera:** Thank you for reviewing! And I'm glad you like it and understand my craziness (or at least find it amusing.)


	4. Think of Fiyero

**Peace and Victory, People! Chapter Four! Sorry it took so long to update but I've had a really busy week, what with Phantom coming out on DVD (finally) and overly time-consuming Algebra homework. Okay, I'm gonna quit complaining and continue with my little schpiel. When we last left Fiyero, he was about to screw up his reputation by auditioning for Boq's part. Let's watch!**

_Disclaimer_: Aye, I own Phantom, which is exactly why I'm writing Phanphics about it instead of real stories. Dripping with sarcasm

**Chapter IV: Think of Fiyero**

Well, this was great. Everyone was staring at me and waiting for me to sing. I could feel my throat choke up. _I_ knew I couldn't sing it; Morrible knew I couldn't sing it; and everyone who had ever heard me solo knew I couldn't sing it. So why was I trying to sing it again? I hate Morrible. She's not exactly my favorite pelican in the herd. Or flock. Do pelicans travel in herds or flocks? Why was I even concerned with pelicans right now? I had a rep to screw up!

I cleared my throat. "Er, hello, ladies and gents. Nice weather today, isn't it?"

Part of Boq's posse that had stayed in the cafetorium started chucking plastic spoons leftover from lunch at me. None of them had very good aim, so most of the spoons ended up hitting Avaric and Dillamond. Reyer, who was beginning to turn red around the ears because his great production just lost its leading Munchkin, snapped at me, "Fiyero, please start at the beginning of the aria!"

Sweet Oz, the disease was spreading! Now our director was starting to call solos arias as well! Stupid new headmasters. Arias. Oh, please. I sighed, and all hope of leaving the room with a scrap of dignity left vanished as the intro was played on the keyboard. I cleared my throat nervously, and began. "Think of me, think of me fondly…"

As I sang, my voice became, well, decent. Which was really weird. Last time I checked, it was only good enough to get me a place in the chorus (aka, I sounded better than a mute wounded llama). When I finished, there was silence for a moment that had no business being as long as it was, then finally someone started to applaud in an almost confused way. Everyone eventually joined in (thank Oz for peer pressure and mob psychology), and I stepped away from the mike with relief.

The Cafetorium lapsed back into Chaos Mode, because _Fiyero Makes a Fool of Himself: the Musical_ was over. As I gulped down some soda, my friends came over and took my solo as an excuse to slap me on the back (making me spit out some soda) and congratulate me. After a few minutes, Avaric set his camera down and came over to our group thing.

"Yo, Fiyero, we need to go see if you made the cut or not," Avaric told me and pulled me in the general direction of Reyer and the new headmasters.

"If I made the… WHAT?"

"If you made the cut. You were auditioning for Boq's part, remember?"

"But-" Yah, minor detail I overlooked there. I had been so concerned with not screwing up when singing that I hadn't considered the fact that I might actually make it.

"Fiyero, you're in." Reyer said.

"But-"

"Here's your script. Memorize it by tonight."

"But-"

Avaric took the liberty of grabbing my script for me and pulling me away, hissing in my ear, "Congrats, dude! You just replaced Boq! Don't complain about it! This is a _good_ thing."

Sweet Oz, I swear, no one listens around here. Who said I even _wanted_ the main role?

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**Galinda's POV**

That night, Shiz University was performing a musical. Most of the time, I'm not into this kind of thing, but I figured it couldn't hurt to go just to see what it's like. Anyway, everyone else was going, and what better way to make my first appearance than at a sophisticated event of the arts held in the… school cafetorium. Whatever. It's not like I had anything better to do.

So there I was, sitting in the front row, and the show started. And the main part was played by this Winkie who looked really familiar. It was so annoying that I couldn't figure out where I had seen him. During his solo in Act Three, I finally figured out who it was! But it couldn't be him… could it?

Oh, whatever. It was just Fiyero, anyway. I resolved to go hunt him down after the musical play thing was over. Wouldn't he be glad to see me! I was positive he'd remember me, because, come on, who forgets a face like mine?

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**Aye. That turned out a little differently than I expected, but what the heck. I'm not very good at writing with Galinda's voice. Oh well. Anyway! Please review! Coming up: Enter Erik! Finally! Yay!**

**Alli Lynn: **Yes, it is a loverly combination, isn't it? (Not to mention insane... I swear, who in their right mind combines these things? Oh, right, that would be me.)

**TheGreatSporkWeilderWhoIsStillTooLazyToSignIn: ** It's so nice to know my art (if you can call this gibberish art!) (think that one scene that they cut out of the Phantom movie, you know the one where they have the Don Juan Triumphant rehearsal? Yah, that one) is appreicaited!

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Yes, so I leave you all with a final word: **Review!**

(I bet that one was a shocker)


	5. The Firmin and I

**What up, People! Another update! (Obviously, or you wouldn't be reading this.) When we last left Paris, the _Phantom of the Opera_ cast was eating lunch in the Populaire. Of course, we all know that Elphie's first aria :Gets beat over the head by Fiyero for using the word "aria": Ouch. Anyway, Elphie's song is next, so that means enter Erik! And enter Phangirls if I can't think of anything else. Yay! Unfortunately, due to the fact that one cast is in Oz, and the other cast is in Paris, there won't be any E/E stuff until after everyone is returned to the correct country/continent… Or until I get bored. MWAHAHAHAHA! HA!**

_Disclaimer:_ Do I really have to do this::sobs: Alright, here I go: Idon'townPhantomoftheOperaorWickedoranythingelsethatappearsinthisPhic/Wickfic. :sobs some more: Hey, I wonder how much it would cost to buy Phantom…

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**Chapter V: The Firmin and I**

As the song ended, the Populaire was thrown into Flashback Mode. All the cobwebs and crap that had come up throughout the years disappeared, and the seats in the auditorium started repairing themselves and turning scarlet and gold. All the people started kind of dissolving because they're not important anymore, and people from 1870 started materializing and going about to do whatever it is that they have to do in an opera house.

**Erik's POV**

"Erik!"

I felt a hand grab my arm, and I spun around and found myself face-to-face with Madame Giry.

"Oh, it's just you." I said. "What do you want?"

The ballet mistress looked a little indignant, then cleared her throat and said, "I am here to inform you of a great opportunity."

"Great opportunity?" Why did I have a "great opportunity" that I didn't know about, and what the heck was it? "Elaborate."

"Well, ever since you came to the Opera house, I have been observing you."

"Giry? Do the words 'invasion of privacy mean anything to you? Because you really-"

"Erik?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

"Okay." What? I was just a teenager then, and this is before I became the Phantom of the Opera. I was somewhat obedient way back when, because that was the only way you could survive as a chorus boy in the Populaire.

"Anyway, I have been observing you, and have seen that you have exceptional genius when it comes to music."

"Okay, tell me something I _don't_ know."

Giry rolled her eyes and continued. "We think that there is possibility that you could meet Firmin."

"How does exceptional genius have anything to do with Firmin? And why would I want to meet him in the first place? It's not like I haven't talked to him before; He does kind of run the opera."

Just then, a raven flew in and dropped a note on my head. I broke the seal and read aloud what was scrawled on the parchment in red ink. "Erik, stick to the script. Firmin's not the manager anymore. He's, um, another musical genius. So just go with that. I remain, Erik, your obedient dictator, CG." Little did I know that I would later be borrowing the format of the letter, when I became the Phantom of the Opera.

"Stupid raven," I muttered, and then added sarcastically, "Oh golly gee whiz I'm just so excited; I can't wait to meet Firmin. It is all that I have ever dreamed of. In fact-"

"Um, Erik, you can stop now. We get the picture." Giry told me.

"Actually, it says here in the script to break into song."

"Please don't." Said an arrogant male voice. I turned to see Raoul de Chagny, possibly the most superficial fop at the opera. He shouldn't have even been in the opera, but he was a Vicomte and was able to buy his way in. Not to mention that the managers pretty much figured that he was handsome enough that no one would notice his extreme lack of talent and intelligence. So in short, he was rich, decent-looking, had a title, and I hate him.

"Can I help you, de Chagny?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and was wondering if you have told Firmin about _my_ talents yet."

"What talents?" Giry and I asked in unison.

"Er, I mean, your talents in music aren't quite what Firmin's looking for." Giry added quickly. She turned back to me and said, "You have also been accepted into our music program, where you can learn music theory and a heap of boring stuff like that, but everyone wants to be in it anyway."

"You're still talking to me, right?" The Vicomte asked.

"Um, no. I'm talking to Erik. I'm afraid, Raoul, you did not quite make the cut, as there are limited spaces in our program. And Erik just took the last one."

I smirked triumphantly at him.

He scowled back and promptly left, muttering about bananas, tacos, and how nobody appreciates true art anymore.

"The manager would like to speak with you," Giry told me, gesturing to the manager's office.

I shrugged and headed down the hall. When I reached the office door, I knocked and entered.

"Sit down, Erik." When I took my seat in a chair in front of his desk, the manager continued.

"Madame Giry tells me that you have extraordinary talent in music."

"I know."

"We all think that with some training, you could be of service to Firmin, the greatest musician in Paris."

"I still don't understand why I would _want _to be of service to him." I said, speaking the truth. Firmin wasn't all that great.

"Erik, Erik, Erik."

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Listen, Erik. When I built this opera house, all there was was swamp. Everyone said I was crazy to try to build an opera house in a swamp, but I built it anyway. It sank into the swamp. So I built another one. That one sank into the swamp. So I built a third one. That one burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the fourth one, now, the fourth one stayed up. And we are sitting in it at this very moment."

"Um, sir? First of all, you didn't build this opera house, and second of all, we're in Paris, not the swamp."

"Well, of course not. The first three I built on the swamp, and the only reason the last one stayed up was because I built it in the city."

"Oh, okay. Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Can I go now?"

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**A bit more Monty Python because I couldn't think of anything better. Don't worry; the next chapter should be pretty good. Avaric gets to chase Fiyero around and inform him that he's crazy because he hears random voices. (AKA, Angel of Music.)**

**Ravensmyst- **Thank you so much for all of the reviews! You rock! Yay for procrastination! (Only on this update, I tried minimal procrastination) I hope you liked this chapter!

**Alli Lynn- ** All hail E/E! (E/E is even worse than Mizzie E/E, which is Enjolras/Eponine. I think. I don't really know that much about Les Mis. But still. Not that I've ever written Enjolras/Eponine, but at least they're all in the same musical. Aye, I'm not making any sense anymore, so I'm gonna shut up.) But anyway, thanks for reviewing!


	6. Angel of Musac

**Le Mer-Singe a volé mon argent, people! Yay for anyone who can read that without a translation program on their computer, cuz I sure can't. This is what happens when I can't think of any more salutations to start my long-winded intro things with. But anyway, that's not important right now. Aiight. When we last left the _Wicked_ cast, Galinda had just recognized Fiyero, and is now planning to hunt him down. Of course, first Fiyero needs to go to the chapel and pray for his dead father. _Fiyero's dead father_: I'm not dead yet! _Me_:Grabs and utilizes Erik's Punjab: Now you are. :Grins wickedly:**

_Disclaimer: _Don't own _Wicked_, _Phantom of the Opera_, myself, the word "musac," Gamboys, Gameboys, Pacman, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, or the sea-monkeys. They belong to Gregory Maguire, Stephen Schwartz, Gaston Leroux, ALW, my catmuse named Scorn Ayesha Malky, Rory, my brother, Nintendo, some random dude, another random dude, some more random dudes, and whoever did _Finding Nemo_.

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**Chapter VI: Angel of Musac**

After the musical, I went over to the miniscule chapel and prayed. Or, at least, that was my excuse. I actually didn't want to get mortally wounded by a bunch of Boq's clique, so I told everyone I was going to the chapel. But instead of praying like I think you're supposed to, I took out my Gamboy and started playing Pacman. Right when I was about to finish level 58, a stupid voice had to start yelling at me. Can't quite remember, but I think the words were somewhere along the lines of "Bravo, bravo, bravissimo." It kind of freaked me out because I thought I was alone in the room, so I dropped my Gamboy. Luckily, the Gamboy was okay, but one of those evil demonic chicken-related mouths ate the little Pacman dude.

I played for a bit more, but then got eaten again on level 49 when Avaric just _had_ to come in and sneak up on me.

"Where the heck have you been all this time?" Avaric wanted to know. "And why are you playing Pacman in the chapel? Oh, and about the musical? Really, you were, well, decent. I only wish I knew how you went from tone-deaf to tolerable without anyone noticing. Who's you're new voice teacher?"

I wondered what in Oz he was talking about. I didn't get a new voice teacher! I just… improved. Immensely. Somehow. Then I thought of something that would make a good excuse. "Hey, Avaric, you know my dead father?"

"Yah…"

"Way back when he was still alive and kicking, he told me about this Angel of Music."

"Cool. Only, Angel of Music sounds so lame. How about Angel of Chickens? That sounds better. Or… Angel of ba-na-nas. Or how 'bout this: Angel of Musac."

(Pronounced Mew-zack, and means the same thing as "music," in case anyone was wondering.)

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with friends like him. "Anyway, I think I've been possessed by the Angel of, um, Musac."

"Um, dude? Are the fluorescent lights affecting your brain or something? When your parents tell you about Angels, Santa Claus's, or holiday bunnies, they generally aren't real, but government conspiracies. Like how we used to believe in the Tooth Fairy, then found out that she's fictional."

"Whoa, wait. The Tooth Fairy isn't real?" I asked. "Yo, chill, I'm just kidding. I _know_ the Tooth Fairy doesn't exist, but honestly, what short of a miracle could have gotten rid of my tone-deafness?"

"Fiyero, you must have been dreaming or hallucinating. Government conspiracies can't come true. Fiyero, you're talking in Norwegian, and it's not like you!"

"What in Oz is Norwegian?" I asked. It sounded like some kind of random language from a fictional country called Europe.

"I don't know. That's just what The Script told me to say."

"And I couldn't have been dreaming because I can never remember my dreams! But anyway, to avoid any run-ins with letter-burden ravens telling me to stay on topic, I will continue the song. Angel of Musac, guide and guardian, give me evidence that you exist so that I can be right for once!"

"Who the heck is this Angel, this Angel of Musac?"

"Angel of Musac, show yourself! I want to prove Avaric wrong! (And I wouldn't mind some voice coaching…)" I sang.

"Angel of Musac, why am I even singing to you when I know that you don't exist?" Avaric countered.

"He's with me, right now, I swear."

"Your hands are purple."

"All around me."

"You got an F on that Social Studies test, by the way."

"It fri- What? How do you know?"

"The Avaric sees, the Avaric knows." He sang at me.

"I hate Social Studies."

"And you suck at it, too."

"Shut up."

We continued arguing and acting like we hated each other like friends are supposed to as we headed back down to our dorm, hoping that none of Boq's cronies would notice us. I started wondering about _really_ what was going on with the improvement of my voice, because I wasn't about to actually _believe_ in that Angel of Music. Or Musac. Whatever.

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**In case anyone was wondering:**

Gamboys are the Ozian versions of Gameboys.

The word "musac" came courtesy of my friend, Rory, who accidentally used it to describe Beethoven when we were state-testing. And now hopefully she won't be mad at me for calling her just to ask how to spell it right.

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**Aye, this was a shorter chapter, but there's only so much you can write about Avaric chasing Fiyero down and telling him he belongs in the local asylum. And yes, I know I use that excuse every time, but I like writing short chapters, so there. What's to Come: Erik and Raoul singing What is this Feeling! Won't that be fun to watch! MWAHAHAHAHA!**

**And thank you so much to my reviewers! Yay for reviews!**

**DragonheartRAB: **Don't worry, Erik _will_ break into song when we get to What is This Feeling (aka next chapter.) BTW, I really like your E/E crossover Phic! Long live E/E!

**The Phantom's Apprentice, Aka Azriel: **Peace and Victory! Tell your muse that I'm honored that he appreciates this. Hey, wait a sec, wasn't your muse Snoopy :Is confused: I'm confused.

**Alli Lynn: **Aye, the idea behind E/E I found somewhere on the internet. Never actually tried writing it, as I only recently discovered Les Mis. Not to mention it wouldn't last very long because they both die pretty early in the second act, I think. The idea behind Firmin being a musical "genius" is that he's like the Wizard, and about the rabid Phangirl request... Sure, why not. I'll see what I can do. Again, thank you for all your reviews:)

**A Last Note (or Two): I'm working on making my chapters a little longer, but seriously, sometimes it's tough to stretch songs out or they start to get boring. And if you guys have any ideas, please tell me about them! Thanks so much to all of my readers and reviewers, you guys rock!  
**


	7. What is this Pheeling?

**Hiya People! Aiight, when we last left everyone's favorite Phantom, he had just finished learning about Firmin, the "musical genius." So now, of course, it's time for us to watch him find out he has to share a room with a Fop (coughRaoulcough), and they're both going to break out into song! So here goes Chapter Seven…**

_Disclaimer:_ Still don't own anything. :sighs: Hey, is there a pattern going on here?

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**Chapter VII: What is This Pheeling**

When I left the Manager's office, once again, Madame Giry started talking to me. She told me that due to a horrible accident including Buquet, a flying toaster, and an evil bunny with sharp pointy teeth, someone would be coming to share a dorm with me. I shrugged. Whoever it was would probably request to move out my dorm within the next week, anyway.

When I entered my dorm, however, I did not find a very happy surprise waiting for me. Raoul de Chagny, the guy everyone loves to hate, okay, the guy everyone loves, and _I_ hate, was unpacking his Humphrey the Magenta Panther posters and taping them to _my _wall. "What are you doing in my dorm? And why do you have magenta feline-related merchandise?" I demanded.

When he heard my voice, he spun and gaped for a moment, then said, "It's _you!"_

"Um, yes, it's me, and this is my dorm. So get out."

"But Giry told me to come heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!" Whined de Chagny. I could tell he was going to get on my nerves very soon.

"Get out or I'll Punjab you."

"What's a Punjab?"

"Hey, not only are you incompetent and shallow, but you're stupid too!" It's so much fun to provoke and argue with people you hate.

"Yah, well- Um… You're ugly! So there! What now?" He asked, as if this was a better dis than anything I could come up with.

"At least I passed the third grade."

"I passed the third grade!"

"Yes, but you had to retake it twice."

We could have continued with this for the next 47 ½ Microsoft Word: Mac pages, which we did, but then I got bored and pointed out that we were supposed to do a song here. De Chagny, who I suspect to have an unnatural fear of note-burden ravens, quickly returned to the script.

"At least _my_ face hasn't been fried!"

"What kind of a dis is that? And my face hasn't been fried." I pointed out. "That _was_ a dis, right?"

"Hey, I'm just going off of the script." He pulled out his script and showed it to me.

"Why are your parts highlighted in pink?"

"Its _magenta!"_ He yelled defensively.

"Right." I glanced at my script to see where we were. "At least I'm not completely tone-deaf."

"I am _so_ not tone-deaf!" He retorted, then remembered we were supposed to be reading off the script. "I mean: That's so hurtful!"

"What are you going to do? Write a letter to your brother?"

"Yes." With that, he grabbed a pink, sorry, _magenta_ clipboard and fuzzy panther pen, and started writing like crazy. Sighing at the stupidity of it all, I went to the desk and started scrawling with a pen and scarlet ink.

"Dearest, darlingest, bestest big brother," de Chagny began as he wrote.

"To Whoever Made Me Dorm with HIM," I said, reading aloud from my own letter.

"There's been some pure evil over rooming at the Populaire." We continued together.

"But of course, I'll have to kill you." I informed him. He turned around swiftly and gaped at me. Unfortunately, he didn't give himself whiplash, but his suddenly pale expression was worth it to watch.

"Isn't that… illegal?"

"No… Really?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'll kill you anyway."

"Erm… But of course, I'll rise above it!" He continued, apparently assuming that I wouldn't kill him if he was singing. On the contrary, his singing gave me the excuse that I was killing him to put everyone out of their misery.

"Not that you really care how that I respond. Yes, there's been some confusion, for you see, my dormmate is…"

"Unusually ugly with a bad sense of fashion, did I mention really ugly and quite icky?" Said Raoul.

"A fop," I stated simply.

Weird music started up, I rolled my eyes and we continued the song. "What is this feeling, so sudden and new?" He said.

"_I_ know, which shows I'm not as stupid as you," I replied.

"His face looks funny."

"He is a pansy."

"He is a meanie."

"What is this feeling?" We sang together. Or more, I sang, and he kind of yodeled.

"Violent as a noose."

"I'd like a pet moose," de Chagny informed me. I turned and sent him a disgusted look, then replied, "So?"

"Loathing! Possibly unhealthy loathing!"

"For your face,"

"Your hair,"

"Your organ!"

"Let's just say: I loathe it all!"

"Every aria, every chorale,"

"And what kind of a name is Raoul?"

"Hey, are you _dissing_ my name?"

"Duh. It has three vowels in a row."

"Yah, well-" he began, and then stopped. "Yah, I guess you have a point there."

I engaged in some forehead smacking with my palm, then got bored and continued the song. "This freakishly strong loathing! There's a strange manifestation in this stupid situation! He ruined my song! Okay, so it came on kind of fast, but face it, we all know that it will last, and I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long!"

I sat back in my swivel chair and watched as a whole bunch of random people ran into our dorm and started serenading Raoul, who was spinning in _his_ swivel chair and saying "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Dear de Chagny, you are just so rich! We'll get you rid of this son of a-"

At that moment, a very well-timed raven flew in and dropped some more notes on our heads. Breaking the all-too-familiar scarlet seals, we read the three words scrawled in red ink. "Whoa, dudes, _language_!"

The serenaders glared at the raven as it flew off, smirking. "-witch!" They continued. "He's a terror, and he's deformed! And we know we're being biased, but de Chagny, you're a martyr!"

The Vicomte in question stopped spinning long enough to add, "Well, his music _is _the driest!"

"Poor de Chagny, forced to divide his space with someone whose face has been fried-"

"For the last time, my face has _not_ been fried!"

"We just want you to know that we're all on your side! We share your loathing!"

"What is this feeling, so sudden and new? Must I repeat I'm not as stupid as you? He has a Punjab! He is a pansy!"

Meanwhile, the losers/Vicomte worshippers were "singing", "…Possibly unhealthy loathing! For his face, his hair, his organ! Let's just say: We loathe it all!"

"So what is this feeling?"

"Every aria, every chorale makes us feel sorry for you, Raoul!"

"Does it have a name? Yes, blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAh!"

Then pretty much all the other people sat around repeating the word "loathing", while de Chagny and I sang, "There's a strange manifestation in this stupid situation! He ruined my song! Okay, so it came on kind of fast, but we all know that it will last, and I will be loathing, for forever, or until I get bored, loathing, truly deeply loathing you my whole life long!"

Somewhere above us, we heard someone yell, "Geronimo!" Before the word fully registered in anyone's brain (or lack thereof), a chandelier was distributed onto Raoul's head. After the deafening crash, there was silence for a full two seconds before people started freaking out. The members of de Chagny's posse started either looking around trying to find who dropped the chandelier, running around in circles and yelling "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera," (Which made no sense whatsoever considering that I didn't even start calling myself the Phantom of the Opera until at least a few years later), and/or poking the fop to see if he would wake up from his current state of unconsciousness. I simply leaned back in my chair, put my feet up on my desk, and watched with an amused look on my face.

Eventually, everyone left after a janitor came in and started sweeping up the chandelier/Vicomte de Chagny remnants. When the dust settled, a teenager with a huge grin on her face (yes, I know, everyone's a teenager in this Phic, but live with it) entered the room.

"Who are you?" I asked carefully.

"I'm Alli! Alli Lynn! And even though you don't know it yet, you're going to be the Phantom of the Opera, and people will make books and movies and Broadway musicals about you, and combine you with the musical, _Wicked,_ which hasn't been invented yet either, oh, and by the way, go _Wicked_! _Wicked_ rocks! Yay _Wicked!_ But anyway, you're, like, Erik, and eventually you'll get all these phangirls like me, and oh my gosh, I can't believe I'm actually here!"

My left eyebrow shot up, not sure if I should be impressed or afraid that this Alli person could say that much in one breath, under five seconds, while still grinning hugely. "Um, okay."

"Oh, and by the way, I was the one who dropped the chandelier on Raoul, I never liked him, yo, did you know that there are a whole bunch more phangirls for you then there are for Raoul, and hey, are Raoul Phangirls called Phangirls or Fangirls? I never really figured that out because-"

"Hold on." I interrupted. "You say that _you_ dropped the chandelier?"

"Yah! It was fun! I-"

"Why did you do that for me?" I asked, and she instantly responded,

"Because you rock. Omg, can I have your autograph? Please? Please please please please please-"

"No."

"Why not?" She was silent long enough to gasp and point. "Is that your Punjab lasso? It's so… Punjab-y…"

"Um… Are you planning on leaving me any time soon?"

"Nope."

This girl was getting increasingly annoying. I had to get rid of her! But how… Aha. That was it. "Hey, Ali? You're a phangirl, right?"

"Yah!"

"Could you go do me a favor? Get the sea-monkeys to give me my money back."

"Okay!"

If she really was a phangirl, she wouldn't be coming back any time soon. Especially since the sea-monkeys stole Kali's money, not mine.

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**Aiight, I'm done. I hope I didn't disappoint anyone with my parodized version of _What is This Feeling_; I'm not quite sure if it ended up all that well. Oh, well, I did my best, and if you don't like it, review anyway!**

**Ravensmyst: **Yay! Thank you so so so so so much for reviewing! So far, you're the only one who reviewed Chapter VI, except for Azriel and Rory, and they don't count because they're my friends. And BTW: After reading your review of Chapter V, I'm thinking of rewriting it to fit in some lyrics. :)

**ThePhantom'sApprentice, aka Azriel:** Whatever. I get confused sometimes. Although, you should kind have already known that. :D

**Phantom of the Icoplex aka Rory: **Dude, when I called you, you said it was "musac," but as you say, it's slang, so who really cares? Oh, and guess what! The tigers come at night, with their voices soft as thunnnnnn-der! As they tear your hope apart, as they turn your dream to sha-a-a-a-ame! Haven't heard that for like two minutes! (This is your cue to stare at me like I'm crazy, if you aren't already.)

**Aye, I hope all you dudes liked this chapter! Please please please review! It will make me a very happy Phantom of the Cafetorium if I get a few more reviews from this chapter than I did the last one. And thanks again to everyone who's been reading this!**


	8. Little Taco

**Omg, I'm so sorry I haven't updated for like a month! Contrary to popular belief, I have actually not been trampled by a herd of yellow mammoths, nor have I dropped of the face of the earth in a puff of mango-scented smoke. What with the end-of-the-school-year tests and all that other junk, I haven't really had time to write. But now that school's pretty much over, I can post again! And so, here's chapter eight!**

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**Chapter VIII: Little Taco**

"Where are _you_ going?" I asked Avaric as he turned the knob on the dorm door. He turned around and sent me a weird look.

"To the bathroom… Is that okay with you?" he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Uh, sure," I said, feeling myself turn slightly red. He left, and I kind of started to get this weird being-watched feeling. I glanced around the dorm, and said to no one in particular, "Well, er, this is kind of weird."

I figured I was just being paranoid, so I went over to my desk and woke up my computer. I needed to get my mind off of the musical. I logged onto the laptop, and started playing Pacman, the computer version. Suddenly, someone opened the door. It creaked so friggen loudly that I jumped about a foot. "Oh, Shiz!" I said involuntarily, then spun my swivel chair around so I could go yell at whoever startled me, assuming it was probably Avaric. So you can see why I was surprised to see Galinda, still decked out in pink, watching me. She giggled, then began, "Little Taco let her mind wander."

"You remember that?" I asked, referring to her reciting of possibly the most overrated fable in Oz.

"Little Taco thought, 'Am I fonder of cheese or of lettuce or beef?'" She continued. This was getting seriously annoying. "Or of sour cream or beans?"

"Those fiestas in the attic." She always forced me to wear a sombrero. I hate sombreros.

"Or of chocolates?"

"Who puts chocolates in tacos?" I demanded.

"Um… I don't know. It just sounded cool."

"Father playing the Mexican hat song." Such scarring, scarring memories. I hate the Mexican hat song. And I hate sombreros! Why, WHY did everything have to be fiesta themed?

"As we read to each other taco related stories of the south."

" 'No, what I love best,' Taco said, 'Is when I'm asleep at Taco Bell, and the Angel of Condiments sings songs in my head…" She continued, and I unenthusiastically joined in.

"The Angel of Condiments sings songs in my head…"

"You sang like a taco tonight, Fiyero."

"Um… Thank you?" I asked. It's good to sing like a taco, right? She was watching me, waiting for me to talk, so I figured I should say something. "Father said, 'Kid, when I keel, I'm going to send you an Angel of Musac.' Which is kind of close to an Angel of Condiments, right? Anyway, I think I've been visited by this Angel of Musac."

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. Sure you have."

Crap. She wasn't buying it.

"Hey, do you wanna go out and see if there are any krispy kremes left?" Galinda asked.

There were Krispy Kremes? And no one told me? Gosh, what kind of friend WAS Avaric? But… What if Boq's evil spoon-bearing friends were still out there? Was a Krispy Kreme worth being beaned with spoons? No, not really. But I couldn't just admit to Galinda, my old friend from way-back-when that I had a pack of rabid Boq posse members after me. I needed an excuse. Ummm…

"Er, I can't. The Angel of Musac-"

"Sure, Fiyero. Whatever. I'll be back in five with a Krispy Kreme to gloat over in front of you. See ya!"

"Um, okay. Sure," If it got me out of facing Boq's friends, I was cool with it. Not that I'm afraid of Boq's friends, it's just that when you try to get revenge on them, they make sure teachers catch you. The are _merciless._ Pure evil, I swear.

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**And thus ends Chapter Eight. It was short, I know, but I just wanted it up! I'll put the Mirror sequence (aka insolent boy) in on the next Wicked chapter. And I'll reply to the reviews from last chapter as soon as I can. Even though you all probably hate me for not updating, review anyway! Chapter Nine should be up tomorrow, if not later today, and since it's summer (woot!), I should be able to get up a chapter at least every other day. Thanks so much to all you who have read this far!**


	9. Something Plaid

**Hey again! School's out! Next chapter. Not sure if I can pull off an entire chapter about plaid, but whatever. If it bores you to tears, tell me, and I'll stop mentioning plaid. And now I have the word "plaid" stuck in my head. It's one of those words that if you say it over and over again, it starts sounding weird. Plaid, plaid, plaid, plaid, plaid…**

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**Chapter IX: Something Plaid**

Far too soon, de Chagny's internal organs that had been crushed by the chandelier were reattached and he was sent out of the hospital wing back to my dorm. It was, though, quite amusing to see his reaction to all that I had done to his Humphrey the Magenta Panther merchandise (it involved mainly a black Sharpie, a few matches, some scissors and a LOT of duct tape).

"Humphrey!" He cries. "You monster! What did you do to poor little Humphrey!"

"It's only a bit of permanent marker… and it's not like you can't by a new one. Anyway, Humphrey the Pitch Black Panther has a much better ring to it."

You could see his bottom lip beginning to tremble. "But… But Humphrey! He's ruined! You're such a… a… a meanie!"

He _really_ needs to hire a better dis-writer.

"If you do anything else to Humphrey, I'll tell!"

"I feel so threatened," I reply sarcastically. And apparently he can't take sarcasm very well either, because he says,

"You know what? I'm just going to tell the manager right now! AND get a new, COOL roommate, who understands a man's relationship with his Humphrey action figure!"

If I wasn't seriously scared by that show of affection for a stuffed cat, I would have been laughing uncontrollably. But about a minute after he left, I hear a knock on the door. I open it, and find the Fop's come back, looking frantic.

"What's _your_ problem?" I ask. "Did you forget the way to the manager's office?"

"No, I remembered this time. It's the Manager himself. He's- he's- I think he's sick!"

"So…?"

"He's wearing _plaid._"

"So…?" I repeat.

"He's wearing an orange and green plaid suit with a hot pink striped tie!"

I drop my Punjab. "He's _what? _ Is he crazy? Who in their right mind wears pink?"

"Um…" he replies, trying and not really succeeding to hide his pink jeans from view.

"Never mind. So what do you want me to do about this?"

"I don't know… Something?" Raoul asks hopefully.

"Sorry, de Chagny, but I have better things to do than correct our Manager's fashion disasters. I mean, think of all the more important things I could be doing! Like… clipping my toenails."

"Ooh! Can I give you a pedicure?" He asks eagerly. I decide I don't want to know.

"Um, no. I was kidding about the toenails. It's a… figure of speech." Raoul looks like someone just deprived him of Christmas, which makes me feel even better. "Yah, I have to go talk to Giry about getting rid of you… So see ya!"

I exit the dorm and head for the stage, where Giry is overseeing the ballet rats. When she sees me, she pulls me to the side, saying she needs to talk to me. "Oh, Monsieur Erik." She begins.

"Um, Madame Giry?"

"Yes?"

"Never call me that again."

"Sorry, can't do anything about it. Script." She explains. By the time this is over, what's the betting we're all so sick of it that we decide to burn the stupid Authoress at the stake? "The things you hear these days! I've heard of a Count, a brother of a fop, who used to be all about vanity. And now he has lost his sanity! And a witch at Shiz University who was the epitome of diversity, forbidden her passion! Because she lacks fashion! Only rumors, but still, enough to give fury to anyone named Giry! Something plaid… is happening in France…"

"Someone really needs to get the Authoress a new rhyming dictionary. Who rhymes fury with Giry? And 'count' comes nowhere close to rhyming with 'fop.' I think the sun is affecting her brain," I comment.

"I have to agree with you on this one. Now say your line before she notices that we're having a dissing fest over here."

"Something plaid? Happening in France?"

"Under the surface, behind the scenes, something plaid..."

"Madame Giry- if something plaid is happening to the Fops, someone's got to tell Galinda. That's why we _have_ Galinda."

"Who's Galinda?"

"Beats me. Why is it even such a big deal that everyone's losing their sense of fashion, anyway?"

"It's mainly to save on cleaning bills. Fops explode when they're exposed to people who lack fashion. And trust me, Fop Guts take a lot more than Windex to scrape off of the walls."

"Which is why de Chagny's the slave of fashion, right?"

"Exactly."

And of course, since we started veering off-topic, that annoying raven that scares the heck out of Raoul showed up. This time, the note said,

_I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves! Everybody's nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves and this is how it goes! I know a song that gets on… Um, yes. The note. Right. Yah, stay on topic. Or I shall be forced to unleash the rabid donkeys! MWAHAHAHAHA!_

_I remain, Giry and Erik, your obedient dictator, CG._

"People _need_ to stop giving her sugar," I remark, and Giry nods in agreement. I glance back at my script to see where we are. "So nothing plaid..."

"You had better be right, because I'm the only one who knows how to clean up Fop Guts." Madame Giry agrees.

"Nothing all that plaid," we sing together.

"Nothing truly plaid."

"What's that supposed to mean? Truly plaid as opposed to the poser plaids, or what?" I ask.

"There are poser plaids?"

"Apparently." I return to the script. "It couldn't happen here… In France…"

"Why did we just sing an entire song about plaid?" Giry wants to know.

"Dunno. It sounded kind of repetitive. But it _is_ the name of the chapter."

"I'm bored. You wanna go get some Krispy Kremes?"

"Sure, why not."

"I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves…" we start singing together. Trust the Authoress to get that song stuck in our heads...

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**Yay! I love that song! It gets on everybody's nerves (hence the title)! Thanks to everyone who's read this! Please review! Everyone who reviews gets a free t-shirt advertising the carousel at Wild Waves! Can you tell I'm hyper? Yay! What's to come: The Phantom of the Opera (the song, I mean) Wickedized. (No clue how I'm going to do that, so any suggestions would be well appreciated). And in response to the reviews I got for the past two chapters...  
**

**Alli Lynn- **Yah, I was hoping you weren't a Raoul fan, because you would probably object to dropping a chandelier on him, huh? But, you're not, which is good! Go Erik Phans! Woot!

**Ravensmyst: **Of course I read your reviews! It's not like I get that many, and anyway, reviews make me feel special! And so I always run around advertising that I got reviews! And oh, look, now I'm ending all of my sentences with exclamation points, too! Join the club!

**Ravensmyst:** Yah, I know last chapter was freakishly short, but that's because I couldn't find much to do with Little Lotte. I will definately be making chapters longer and more frequent because summer's here and I don't have a social life!

**Yup, I'm done now. I'll update as soon as I finish my next chapter! Again, thanks for reading, and special-thanks with a punjabbed fop on top for the reviews!  
**


	10. The Witch of Shiz University

**_Me_: And finally, the moment we've all been waiting for… Enter Elphaba!**

**_Everyone else_: It's ABOUT time!**

**_Me_: Um, yes. Right. Oh, and happy birthday to Azriel/Carma! Yay! Now I'll shut up so you can just read the stupid chapter!**

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**Chapter X: The Computer/The Witch of Shiz University**

**-Elphaba's POV-**

Right after Galinda leaves, I take my chance to make my presence known to Fiyero, who has gone back to playing pacman. Originally, I was going to stalk him from the mirror in his dorm, but quickly found it doesn't work too well, due to the fact that the mirror lives in his closet. Which could use a good deal of cleaning. I think he and Avaric shove all the crap that they're too lazy to get rid of in there. I also noticed a lot of magenta panthers with tags saying:

_To_: Fiyero

_From_: Raoul de Chagny

It was vaguely disturbing. But anyway. The one surface that he was constantly staring into was the computer. So I decided to stalk him from there. Making use of my ability of ventriloquism, I begin:

"Insolent girl this prep of fashion, basking in _your_ mediocrity! Ignorant blonde (okay, that was redundant), this oblivious suitor, sharing in _my_ triumph!"

"Wait, how is my mediocrity your triumph?" he asks. "Unless… You're a Boq supporter, aren't you! DIE DIE DIE evil Boq follower! DIE!"

"I think a certain person had too much sugar today." I comment.

"Who? The Authoress?"

"I think a certain two people had too much sugar today."

Attempting to get back to the script, he says, "Angel, I hear you. Speak-"

"I would if you'd shut up." I interrupt. Yes, yes, I know, I should improve my people skills, but it's just so much fun to provoke people. Although, that's probably why I don't have any friends… Oh well. Whatever.

He glares at me. "I wish people would quit blaming me for all my stupid lines. I DID NOT WRITE THE SCRIPT!"

"Okay, gosh. I'm just making this interesting for the readers."

"Right. Okay, moving on. I listen. Stay by my side, guide me."

Like I don't have better things to do.

"Angel, I totally understand if you don't think yourself worthy of my presence-"

"Wait, WHAT?" I demand.

"Just checking to make sure you were paying attention."

"Idiot child you shall know me. See why in Shiz I hide. Look at your little yellow pacman dude on the iMac screen… I am there inside!"

I snap my fingers and we're in a cemetery, and I'm singing, "…You denied me! Turning from true beauty!"

As Fiyero sings, "…I denied you! Turning from true beauty! Angel of-"

At that moment I get a note distributed on my head. I break the seal and read,

_Yah, nice try, Elphie, but not happening. You thought I wouldn't notice if you skipped straight to the Wandering Child scene, but you were WRONG! MWAHAHAHAHA! It's kind of hard for me not to notice, considering I haven't even written that chapter yet. Now go back to the Computer scene._

_I remain, Elphaba, your obedient dictator, CG._

I hate Authoresses and their stupid pet ravens. Snapping again, we return to Fiyero's dorm.

"What was that all about?" He asks.

"I was trying to get us out of having to do about half of the musical."

"Hey, I'm sure we can try again some other time, seeing as there are way too many reoccurring tunes in _Phantom of the Opera_."

"Um, Fiyero? Quit being optimistic, and just continue the stupid song."

"Okay. Angel of Musac-,"

"Whoa. WHAT did you call me?" I interrupt. What is this "musac" of which he speaks?

"Angel of Musac. It means the same thing as music."

"Yah, I'm not the Angel of Music OR Musac. The Angel of Music/Musac is over in Paris eliminating the world of all things plaid. But not paisley. Ravensmyst is using paisley to make the Fop explode."

"So what are you, then?"

"I'm a person and my name is Anakin!" I receive a blank stare in response. "Er, sorry. Sudden _Star Wars_ outburst. I'm the Angel of Magic."

"Magic? Cool. That's gotta be a lot more useful than being able to sing." Fiyero says. I'm glad SOMEONE appreciates my magical…ness. Whatever. "Angel of Magic, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of Magic, hide no longer! Come to me, strange Angel!"

"I am your Angel of Magic… Come to me, Angel of Magic… I am your Angel of Magic… Come to me, Angel of Magic… This is kind of repetitive, isn't it?" I ask.

"Tell me about it. I had to sing an entire song about the Angel of Musac."

With another snap of my fingers, I turn the computer screen into a two-way mirror. I offer him my hand, which he takes, and this awesome organ music starts up. Somehow, without the computer getting any bigger or Fiyero getting any smaller, I take him into a passage behind it.

"In sleep she hexed at me… In dreams she came… Wait. You came in my dreams? But I don't dream." He protests.

"Trust me, you do, and about the stupidest things. Like salamanders, tacos, and bananas. You just don't remember it."

"That voice which calls to me… And says I'm lame…"

I sense a bit of bitterness in his voice. But you know, the truth hurts.

"And do I dream again? For now I'm positive… The Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch of Shiz University is theeeeeeeeeeeere… Inside my closet!"

I stop in my tracks. "Wait. That doesn't rhyme. Apparently no one got the Authoress her rhyming dictionary. And you knew I was in your closet?"

"Yah, one time during Winter Break we were really bored, so we decided to see if Raoul's panthers were flammable. Avaric went in there to get the panther, and saw you, and told me that the Witch of Shiz University was in my closet."

"And so were they flammable?"

"No. It exploded, though, when this girl in paisley walked past."

I shrug and we continue walking. "My ventriloquism and all my threats make my power over you grow stronger yet-"

"Imagine that," comments Fiyero sarcastically. I glare at him and he shuts up.

"And though you turn from me, dare to look back, the Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch of Shiz University is theeeeeeeeeeeere… In your iMac!"

There's a change in key and we come to the lake. I summon a couple of brooms and hand one to him. We cross the water on the brooms.

"Those who have seen your skin, call you a freak."

"A little blunt there, aren't we?" I ask.

"Well, it's TRUE!"

"You do realize that I could 'accidentally' unenchant your broom and you could fall into the lake of piranhas at any time, right?"

"I am the hat you wear," He sings. Hey, he noticed my hat. You know the black one with the coney thing that's my signature hat? The one commonly referred to as a "witch's hat" that I happened to be wearing today?

"It's me they seek…"

"People seek you?" He questions.

"Yah. As soon as they find out I'm a witch, they all decide they want love and money and power potions. It gets really annoying after a while."

"Your magic and my skin that is not green… The Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch of Shiz University is theeeeeeeeeeeere… inside my screen!"

"She's there… The Wicked Witch of the West! Beware the Wicked Witch of the West!" Sing the random disembodied voices.

"What, are you wicked now?"

"Not yet, but it fits better in the song." I reply.

At this point, Fiyero decides to start singing like Christine does in the Phantom movie. It's really disturbing that he's capable of going that high. "Okay, you can shut up now!" I yell.

He can't hear me.

"SHUTTETH UPPETH!" I scream the enchantment at the top of my lungs. And, would ya look at that, he lost his voice.

I smile sweetly and say, "Yes, well, now that I have your attention, I can continue. In case you haven't noticed, I muted you, and so now you have to shut up and listen to my schpiel. And after my schpiel I have a five-minute-forty-second solo, so I'll shut you up for that chapter as well. Now PAY ATTENTION!" The last two words made him jump about seven feet. It was highly amusing.

"I have brought you… To the place of wicked magic's home… To this lair where you all must bow down before magic… not that you have a choice because well it's magic and it will make you do whatever anyway… magic… You have come here for one reason and one alone… I have noticed you can't sing worth beans, so the magic can teach you how to sing worth beans… For Shiz's sanity… Shiz's sanity…"

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**:sings:**…**Please take this letter to Cosette and pray to God that she's still there! Little you know… Little you care:Looks around, sees that everyone's staring at me: Um, oh, hi. Yah, I that's the end of this chapter. Took a bit longer to write due to (1) Procrastination on my part, and (2) The fact that this was a longer chapter. Review, people! Or I will be forced to say… Ni!**

**Ravensmyst: **Oh, yah, I forgot about paisley. Pleasure to help in your destruction of all things Fop! Yay! Death to the Fop! But do me a favor before you explode him. Hack his hair off. We should torture him first.

**Carma: **HAPPY BIRTHDAY:Starts belting Happy Birthday: Someone should say happy birthday so I can punch you… JK… Yah, anyway thanks for reviewing, you made me a happy PhantomoftheCafetorium. Stupid school won't let me into my Cafetorium because it's summer. :Grumbles to self:


	11. Macarenaing Through Life

**Yo-ness, people! Since _Dancing through Life_ is so freaking long, I'm splitting this into two chapters. I would like to thank Valentine for telling me about the Wicked libretto! And now that I have it, I will probably go back and add some stuff to the other chapters… Eventually. So, anyway, chapter eleven!**

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**Chapter XI: Macarena-ing Through Life, Part I**

_A/N: For the heck of it, and because the Authoress is having problems turning Christine into a Fiyero, Christine suddenly suffered a head injury involving magenta panthers and rioting Fop-Bashers. So she will not be appearing in the first few segments of this chapter. And anyway, now the Authoress can bash Raoul some more about him being brainless, as suggested by Ravensmyst._

**Raoul's POV**

I am bored. "I'm bored," I say.

"I have an idea," says Masked Freak on the other side of the room. "Why don't you jump off a cliff!"

I think for a minute. (A/N: Everyone especially Azriel and Rory picture Raoul thinking. Tough, isn't it?) I decide to ignore his last comment. "I'm going to ignore your last comment. Anyway, I was thinking."

"Yah, right."

I continue. "The new girl had the manager arrange a Masquerade! We should go!"

"Define we."

"I should go!"

"Yay. I'm thrilled. Can you tell by the way I REALLY DON'T CARE!"

"No, not really." I don't understand him sometimes. I get up to go find my friends. As I walk out the door, I begin to 'sing.' "The trouble with-,"

_SLAM!_

Hey! He slammed the door in my face. How rude! I sigh. Some people just don't appreciate good music.

But then, luckily, when I got to the Ozbucks Café across the street, I ran into a group of my followers. THEY would listen to my song. "The trouble with operas is they always try to use the wrong music! Believe me, I've seen enough of them to know."

"Exactly how-a many 'AVE you zeen?" One of my followers, who happens to be wearing a huge pink dress resembling a cake asks.

"Just out of curiosity, who are you?" I ask.

"Hola, monsieur, my name is Carlottttttttttttttttttttttttta."

"Shouldn't that be señor?" Some guy with a really weird tie suggests.

"No, where I come from, we speak Spench." She replies.

"Spench?"

"SPENCH!" She squawks, and Tie Guy shrieks and hides behind one of the Ballet Rats.

"Aren't you supposed to be Spanish-Italian?" Asks a ballet rat.

"Yes, but what zoundz cooler: Spench or Spitalian?"

"I'd actually have to say Spitalian."

"I AM SPENCH!"

"Okay… Moving on." I say, because those ravens scare the heck out of me, and they tend to come whenever we get off-script. "They want you to become less poppish, less foppish, but I say- er… what do I say?" I'm not the best at making up lyrics off the top of my head, can you tell?

"No, zis is my fork. ZIS is my needle! Please ignore the bloodstains." I hear Carlotta telling Tie Guy.

"Okay, sure. So I say 'ZIS is my needle!' Stop studying pork and learn to live with the 5,092 and 4/19's uses of sporks! Dancing through life, being oblivious, don't notice they're bashing you. Life is painless for the brainless-,"

"We'll have to take his word on that one. He's the only one who really understands being brainless," snickers that annoying ballet rat, Aradia, I think her name is.

"Of course I would know! I'm the epitome of brainlessness!"

"Somehow I'm beginning to doubt he understands what that word means."

"Those who don't try never look foolish-,"

"Judging by his constant look of stupidity, I would have to say he tries a lot then."

"Dancing through life, no need to stop it when you can fop it off as I do-,"

"What the heck does 'fop it off' mean?" Meg demanded.

"Become a fop, of course!" I said. Okay, so a few days ago, I was under the impression that when people call me a fop, they're dissing me. But then I realized that EVERYONE is calling me a fop, even my followers, so it's probably a good thing to be foppy. Or foppish. Or whatever.

Right as I am about to begin singing again, I hear the cawing of… A raven! Bravely, I dive behind Aradia and put her between me and the raven so perhaps it won't see me. I don't know if it actually did see me or not, but it just kind of gives Aradia the note and flies off.

At that point, Aradia begins to sing the strangest song. "Bravely, bold Sir Raoul rode for from his dorm room. He was not afraid to die, o brave Sir Raoul. He was not afraid at all to be poked in nasty ways, brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Raoul. He was not afraid at all to be crushed by the raven's note. Or to have his eyes pecked out, and his elbows broken…" She is eventually joined by some other ballet rats as they begin to act out a very odd scene.

She tosses me the note and I break the seal cautiously.

_Fop_

_Idiot! First of all, the word "fop" is a noun, not a verb, therefore it is not possible to "fop it off." Second of all, you may NOT convert any of the other innocent (Well, most of them are innocent, anyway) Phantom characters or any one else to Foppism!_

"But you told me to! I'm just going off of your script!" I whine. More red ink appears on the note.

_Oh, yah. Well, then, carry on._

"And by the way, your Microsoft Word: Mac doesn't think that Foppism is a word either."

_DON'T QUESTION THE AUTHORESS!_

The ink appears so suddenly that time that I let out a very manly shriek, and get a disgusted look from the ballet rats.

_I remain, Fop, your dictator, CG._

I watch as the Aradia and the ballet rats finish up their scene.

"…Bravely hid away, away, when danger reared its Raven head, he bravely dove behind rats and hid, yes brave Sir Raoul ducked away. And gallantly he chickened out-"

"SHUT UP!" I yell.

"Okay, gosh. Take a chill pill, dude." Aradia says. She's getting on my nerves. So I glare at her, and she bursts out laughing. (A/N: Raoul can't glare very well).

"Nothing matters, but staying away from Erik's Phans… It's just life, so keep fopping through."

I continue to the next verse. "Fopping through life, standing around and doing pretty much nothing, and always keeping cool-,"

"Like HE knows what cool is…" Aradia puts in.

"Honestly, rat, are you incapable of shutting up?"

"Yes," she answers instantly.

"Life is fraughtless when you're thoughtlessThosewho don't try never look foolish." By this point I had caught on that if I don't leave time for them to insert any comments, that they won't. "Fopping through life, mindless-,"

"You've got that right." Dang it. She slipped the comment in before I could finish. Leave it to the Authoress to make sure that there are plenty of places to make fun of me. I glare up at the general direction of where the raven came from.

"… And bad-hair-less, make sure you're where less Punjabs are rife! Woes are fleeting, chandeliers are dropping when you're fopping through life!" I see Christine turn the corner. "Christine! What's the most-,"

"Why are you singing Fiyero's song when _I'm _Fiyero?" She interrupts.

"Didn't you read the Authoress's note at the beginning of the Phic?"

"No."

"Oh, I'll go get it!" Offers Meg and runs off.

"So… what's the most fopolicious place in town?" I ask.

"Raoul, don't use that word."

"Okay, fine. But seriously, answer my question."

"Um… that would be the one place the opera house where we did the Masquerade scene."

"Sounds like that'll be okay, I guess… Let's go down to the Masquerade scene, we'll meet there later tonight! We can dance 'til we get bored… Find the prettiest girl, give her a whirl. Right on down to the Masquerade scene! Come on, follow me."

"I'd rather not," Aradia says.

"I've given up trying to convert you to Foppism," I reply then continue to everyone else: "You'll be happy to be there fopping through life!"

"Fopping through life, down at the Masquerade," sing my followers.

"If only because masks are what we come to!" Adds Christine.

"That should be on a t-shirt, or coffee mug or something." Suggests Aradia, as Meg comes back, breathing hard.

"I'm back… Finally… I had to… Run… To the very… Beginning of this chapter… Not easy to do... Here…." She hands Christine the Authoress's Note.

"Wait, so the AUTHORESS gave me that minor head injury?" Screams Christine. "Excuse me while I go kill her." She leaves. I shrug and continue.

"Nothing matters but staying away from Erik's Phans… So keep fopping through…"

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**Ten minutes later…**

_A/N: Due to character intervention (insert glare at Christine, who is currently smirking and forcing me to write this), Raoul is once again singing the role of Galinda, and Christine is back to singing as Fiyero. However, since I lack other ideas, the parody of the song "Dancing through Life" will still be about converting people to Foppism._

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**All-Seeing and All-Knowing Omnipotent Authoress's POV, aka Third Person**

"Monsieur de Chagny? I 'ope you'll save at leezt one dance for me, I'll be rrrrrrrright there, waiteeeng all night." Says Carlotta (Like you couldn't tell… She's the only one that I have to write a Spench accent for).

"Yah, right. Not on your life, Carlitta." Replies the Vicomte.

"Carlotta," Carlotta corrects.

"You know, if you want, you could go out with Piangi just for the heck of it."

"Okay!" She agrees, and heads back across the street to the Opera house to go track down Piangi.

"You're good," Christine says to Raoul.

"Of course I am."

"So… We'll be heading down at about eight?"

"After all, now that we've met one another, it's clear we deserve each other." They 'sing.' Or, Christine sings and Raoul, well, let's just say that Erik would be murdering him in the name of all things music if he was there.

"You're Christine."

"You're Raoul."

"So we're perfect together! Born to be forever!" Obviously, they haven't read any of the many E/C phanphics, or they would know that that's not much of a reason to be "perfect together."

"Masquerading through life!"

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**Meanwhile, back at the dorm…**

"It's pathetic!" Erik yells at the only person around who will listen to him vent: Piangi. "This stupid girl and a rich Vicomte appear and everyone's off to worship them at some cultish social gathering!"

"Have you seen them yet?"

"Well, one of them. He happens to live in my dorm."

Piangi figured he didn't want to be the one to tell the Phantom that the "stupid girl" happened to be Christine. So instead he says:

"Even me! I'm going! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Define wonderful," Erik grumbles.

"Carlotta had too much dignity to ask me at first, but then Raoul rejected her."

"The fop!"

"Don't you dare say another word against him!"

And Piangi, not exactly being the brightest bulb in the pack, didn't realize that that was probably not the best thing to say to Erik at this point. Or ever. Making the second mistake of not having his " 'and at zee level of his ice" as Giry puts it, he finds himself with the Punjab Lasso around his neck.

"Would you like to rephrase that request?" Erik says mockingly.

Piangi is turning pretty colors. Red, then orange, then yellow, then green then purple, then blue… Obviously no one taught him the colors of the rainbow in order.

"Okay," squeaks Piangi. The Punjab slackens, and Piangi begins to sing.

"Finally, for this one-,"

He is cut off because of the fact that Erik has just successfully Punjabbed him, because he can't sing worth beans. Kind of like Fiyero…

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**Well, there's your first half of "Dancing Through Life." Oh, and the whole "Macarena-ing Through Life" as the title will make more sense when I get the second half up. Which WILL be soon, since I know what I'm going to do (for once).**

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**Yay! Review Reply time! And yay! Seasons of Love is playing!**

**Ravensmyst: **I took your advice and made Raoul sing Dancing through Life. It took me longer than I would like to admit to parodize this one. Stupid muse was taking a nap when I was trying to write. :Shakes fist at muse, which doesn't work very well considering said muse is inside my mind… Kind of like Phantom of the Opera:

**DragonheartRAB:** Heya! I'm glad you found my insanity amusing! I haven't thought about Music of the Night yet… Yah, I know I'm a slacker, but it's summer so I have an excuse. But knowing me, I can probably screw it up badly enough for you all. :D

**Valentine:** Thank you so so so so so so so so so so so so (Okay you get the picture) much for telling me about the libretto! I can't see Wicked until it comes to our state which is in like a year, and I've looked for the libretto before and haven't found it. But now I have it! Yay! Now I can make my friends to perform it with me! Mwahahahaha!

**Alli Lynn: **Being slow like I am, I didn't realize the whole thing with Pink Panther. But hey, I guess that works! By the way, I found your review quite amusing. I'll probably end up putting more Les Mis quotes and stuff in here randomly, because I'm weird like that. Yay! Go Mizzies! (and Phans, and Wicked fans...) Speaking of which…

**Does anyone know what a Wicked fan is called?**

**Anyone who reviews can have… um… a piece of cake, and anyone who can answer the question above gets… ice cream! Yay!**


	12. Macarenaing Through Life II

**Heya, people! Sorry about the delay on this one, but I was… :Thinks for a bit: Nope, scratch that, no decent excuse. :D Just laziness. I have a vague idea of what I'm doing next chapter… Shouldn't take that long to type up, but knowing me... Who knows what could happen? Eh, whatever. I'll do what I can. But anyway! Onto the insane randomness!**

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**_Disclaimer: I do not own anything; I don't own Wicked, Phantom of the Opera, the cherry lip gloss thing (who came up with that, anyway?), iTunes, or the Rent CD I'm listening to right now (It belongs to the library, if anyone cares… And I have to give it back tomorrow :is sad:). I do, however, own about seven dollars, an iPod shuffle, and way too many CD's._

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_**Chapter… (What are we on now? XXII? Something like that): Macarena-ing Through Life, Part II**

We last left everyone at the Populaire just after Erik Punjabbed Piangi. So now we return to the Fop Following Herd. And Aradia.

"And now I must accessorize myself for Christine," Said Raoul, skipping (Yes, I said skipping) to a shop next to the Ozbucks Café. Coincidentally (and rather disturbingly) the shop appears to have an entire wall devoted to lip gloss, with an entire section of Fop-endorsed cherry lip gloss. The rest of the herd followed him into the store.

"What in Javert's name is this?" Aradia demanded, pointing at one of the only things in the store that wasn't pastel colored.

"Ew… It's so tacky! Black is SO out!"

"He disturbs me," Aradia stage-whispered to a cashier with a red vest.

"He comes here every day. It's not right," the guy replied.

"I agree."

Again, Raoul attempted a glare and snapped, "Ballet rats and cashiers with red vests should be seen and not heard."

"And fops should be Punjabbed and not saved, but _that_ rarely actually happens," replied the cashier.

"Great. Now she has a sidekick," the Vicomte muttered.

"So why is a black mask in a shop like this?" A random Rat asked the Nameless Cashier.

"Heck if I know. I just work here."

"You know, I think I'm getting an idea," said Raoul.

"Alert the press," replied Aradia sarcastically.

After purchasing the hat and a lot of other stuff I'd rather not list, Raoul, the Fop-Following Herd, Aradia, and the cashier dude made their way across the street to the Opera Populaire. Honestly, though, you'd think these people had lives, but no. They're content with just following Raoul around and (in the Ballet Rats' cases) making fun of him. When they got to their destination, which happened to be Erik and Raoul's dorm, they were all curious as to what Raoul was trying to do. Everyone except one of the Rats, who had read Wicked and actually understood what was going on.

The Vicomte threw open the door and yelled, "Happy fiesta!" Then proceeded to perform the chicken dance. When he finished, he made his way into to the room, telling everyone that he was pretty sure the chicken dance wards off those scary ravens.

Meanwhile, Erik, who had been sitting on the other side of the room at his desk reading _How to Punjab a Fop _at the time of the intrusion, was now watching, unsure of whether he should be laughing or seriously frightened by the fact that this was his _roommate_.

"Listen, de Chaney, I was just going to go find you so that I could, erm…" He quickly hid his book in his cloak. "Uh, see how you would look with this fashionable new scarf around your neck!" He improvised, displaying his "Scarf" aka Punjab. Honestly, I think we would ALL like to see how it looks around Raoul's neck.

"Never mind that, I was just looking for you. I thought you might want to wear this mask to the masquerade tonight!"

He got a glance in return that clearly stated, "Um, okay."

"It's really, uh, a mask, dontcha think? You know black is this year's pink! You deserve each other, this mask and you, you're both so… lethal! You deserve each other, so here! Out of the goodness of my heart!"

With this, he tossed the mask to Erik, performed the chicken dance, and left the room. After a moment, Erik took the mask and replaced his white one with the black, more Leroux-ish one.

**At the Masquerade**

At the Masquerade, a whole bunch of random people were dancing, including a guy dressed as Batman. There was also a guy who we all know of as Furby Man who was dressed as, you guessed it, a furby! We Phans are so creative with our names. Anyway, Carlotta was there as well, attempting to serenade people. She was not doing too well as people kept running away from her. She wondered why.

Suddenly, a ghost descended the stairs. Everyone froze and started placing bets on what/who it was.

"It's a bird!"

"It's a plane!"

"It's the Opera Ghost!"

From the other side of the room, Erik cleared his throat. "Um, guys? Over here."

"Oh. Never mind."

Everyone turned back to the ghost. This time, they noted that he was a bit heavier-looking than Erik and was semi-transparent. As in, a real ghost. This caused a bit of chaos involving the stupider masqueraders (which would be about 93 percent of them) running around in circles screaming, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! IT'S THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT!"

"Um, guys? That's Piangi," Meg pointed out.

93 percent of the Masqueraders stopped in their tracks and felt like the idiots they are, and the other 7 percent started smacking their foreheads with their palms.

"Zo zat's where you went!" Screeched Carlotta.

Piangi, seemingly oblivious to the fact that everyone thought he was the Ghost of Christmas Present, held out an offering of a plastic cup of punch. "Punch?"

Carlotta took the punch and chugged it. Everyone else mobbed around and did that familiar "Chug! Chug! Chug!" chanting ritual that we all know so well from the school cafetorium.

"What's in the punch?" Asked Piangi.

"Do you WANT to know?" she asked as she looked like she was going to puke.

"Not really."

By this time, everyone else had gone back to dancing/attempting to dance/doing that weird dance that one guy does, you know in the middle of the staircase in the Masquerade scene an hour and nineteen minutes into the movie, yah that thing.

"Lizeen, Piangi?" Said Carlotta

"Si?"

"Uh, Piangi, I've got someding to- Wait. What de heck rhymez weed Piangi?"

"Pretty much nothing," he replied, oblivious to the fact that Carlotta was in the middle of dumping him.

Carlotta shrugged and picked up in a different spot. "Zee reason why, well, why I azked you 'ere tonieeght. Now, I know, eet eezent fair-,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Piangi said.

"Yez you do."

"No I don't!"

"Yez you do."

"I'm not listening!" He put his fingers in his ears. "LALALALALALALALALA!"

"Are you een denial?"

"NO!"

"Hey, Piangi, you're acting like Raoul again," Aradia added.

"IS THERE NO JUSTICE IN THIS WORLD?"

"No, not really."

"I'm getteeng bored. Let's dance."

"What?"

"You can take your feengers out of your eears now."

"Okay."

And they began to dance. Woo-hoo. This is so exciting. Can you sense my sarcasm?

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"Giry! What are you doing here?" Asked Raoul. 

"That's MADAME Giry to you, bucko. I'm here to give you this." Giry handed him a letter.

Raoul took it and read it. "Why does this say that I get to be in the chorus as well as the Patron? Wait, doesn't that mean that pretty much I'm paying myself?" This confused Raoul.

"Don't ask me, ask your dorm mate. It was his idea."

"What? Erik?"

"No, you're other dorm mate! Of course it was Erik."

"But why?"

"I have no friggen clue. Honestly, I don't think you have what it takes. Especially if you really do sing like Patrick Wilson. Now, if you sing like Steve Barton, that is a completely different story because-,"

"Wait. Who is this Patrick of which you speak?"

"Never mind. I hope you'll prove me wrong. Although, I _seriously_ doubt you will."

"Um, thanks, I guess," he replied, still confused. He admired his letter for a few more seconds as Giry turned on her heel and left.

"Yo, Raoul, what's up!" Called Christine, making her way through the crowd.

"I got into the chorus!"

"Um… Great?"

"Yep! Giry started talking about-,"

"Holy hamburger, who the heck is that?" Christine interrupted, gesturing to our masked murdering amigo.

"Oh, that's just my roommate. He's a bit fashion-retarded."

"I'll say. Black is SO last Masquerade."

By then, everyone had begun commenting on the mask. If not for his deformation, Erik would probably have taken it off like it says in the script he's supposed to. But, being Erik, he didn't, and instead he began to Macarena. Alone. Without music. And trust me, we all hate the Macarena, but it's even worse if everyone's staring at you and making fun of you. Which is what everyone was doing, except perhaps Christine.

"Raoul, you're rich! Go dance." She told him.

"What does being rich have to with anything?"

"Rich equals popular, remember?"

"But it's FUN watching and making him look like an idiot!"

"Raoul, if you go dance, I'll give you a limited edition Humphrey the Magenta Panther feather duster."

"Deal!"

And, as Christine expected, the moment Raoul went out to Macarena just as badly, everyone else decided that if Raoul was doing it, it must be cool. (Even though the Macarena will NEVER be cool! Ever!) And since I seriously doubt the Macarena had been invented at that time, they named it instead, the Fop.

"Fopping through life, down at the Masquerade, if only because masks are what we come to! But the bad thing, you're life could end up ending…" At this point everyone stared pointedly at Piangi. "While you're fopping through!"

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**So there you have it! Part two of Macarena-ing through Life! Not sure how well this chapter went, because the Fopping through Life theme is getting a bit overused. :shrugs: Oh, well. By now, I think Fopping through Life would be a better title. Maybe I'll change it, maybe I won't, depends on if I stay this lazy or not. Next up is Music of the Night. Mwahahahaha! I'm beginning to get an idea as to how I'm going to mess it up, and hopefully it will be weird enough.**

**Now on to the fun part...**

**DragonheartRAB:** Yah, I think we all pity the poor people who have to deal with the Fop on a daily (or even every seven and a half yearly) basis. Only, it'd be worth it just to have a chance to make fun of him. : )

**Alli Lynn: **Wickeders… Hmm… Works for me! And I liked your WicPhic (That's what it would be, right? Wicked Phan Phiction:Shrugs: Close enough)! I hope you decide to continue it, I like your idea!

**Ravensmyst: **I like the "Elphans" thing… Only, some of the Wicked fans prefer G(a)linda, so I guess Elphan could refer to us Elphie fans! (Okay, is it sad that I'm having problems spelling fan without the ph?) And if people think that we're Legolas fangirls, we can just call them fops for not knowing the difference. :D

**xRJLupinx:** It seems you have stumbled upon my little phic… moohaha! I shall now proceed to suck out your brain with a straw! Just kidding... Yay! I'm glad you like it! I'm more entertained than I should be by writing it!

**xRJLupinx:** You see, now that I've written this completely random and utterly pointless parody to Little Lotte, if you ever end up singing (Or more like speaking) the Little Lotte track, you can use the taco lyrics! And everyone around you will stare at you! (It's always fun to make people stare.)

**xRJLupinx:** I can't remember if I credited Spench and the whole thing about the accent to my friend Carma or not, and so if not, Carma don't kill me, and I'm crediting it now. Spitallian, though, was all my doing. Thanks for reviewing! Reveiws make my day. Kind of like Phantom does... :D

**:Passes out the cake and the ice cream that I think I owe you reviewers: Thanks for reviewing! Anyone who can tell me what we should call the G(a)linda fans gets a pet armadillo! Woot!**

**Yep, thanks to my readers, drop off a review on your way out, and now I will go kick my brother off of the computer so that I can go start my next chapter! Yay!**


	13. Music of My Site

**I can just see all of you people looking at the title of this chapter and shaking your heads. I'm just letting you know that you're probably right to be shaking your head. Okay, here's the deal. I probably won't be able to update again for another couple of weeks, but I'll still be able to write. So I'll work on my next chapters and upload them later. But anyway, here's chapter thirteen.  
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**Chapter XIII: Musac of My Site**

Most sane people don't really consider witches and technology mixing well. I mean, just read Harry Potter and you can tell that they kind of contradict each other. But, when you live on a Kiamo Ko across the lake with very little interaction with the outside world, you're still gonna need the internet. Which explains why Elphaba had a nice pretty iMac. I mean, she's got to amuse herself somehow. And she needs to be able to buy a whole bunch of useless junk somewhere! Although the FedEx guys are always having problems getting the random Ebay stuff across the lake… And don't even ask why an h2o intolerant witch is living on a lake.

Anyway, one of Elphaba's most recent projects was creating a web site devoted to Les Mis (A/N: Sorry, couldn't help it). Once she found out that she could host a forum there, she began to obsess over it. So now she was going to force Fiyero to sit through an entire solo about it. Fiyero would probably have protested, but he was still mute.

"Forums addict, attract all kinds of people. And who doesn't like Les Misérables? Silently the Mizzies abandon all their fan fics... Quickly heated arguments have started. Everyone uses caps lock and exclamation marks. Turn your face away from the songs for Ms. Daaé, turn your thoughts away from Raoul vs. Erik fights… And listen to the musac of my site!" At which point, Elphie turned on the sound with a flourish, and the Confrontation could be heard in the background.

"Close your eyes and- What are you doing? FIYERO! AHHHHHH! NOT MY COMPUTER! NOOOOOOOO!"

"Mmph, mph mphmph mph!" Fiyero tried to say, but he was still muted from the Shutteth Uppeth spell. Elphie quickly undid the spell.

"What did you say?"

"Hey, that wasn't me!" Fiyero repeated.

"Yah, it was! You hit my computer, you insolent boy, this slave of fashion! And that made it crash!"

"It's not my fault! Okay, maybe it sort of is, but still! You muted me!"

"I could have done a lot worse."

The two continued arguing for another couple of hours, but were interrupted (finally) by a really loud "DINGALING!" From the computer.

"What was that?" Elphie demanded.

"Not sure… But if I didn't know better, I'd say your computer started up email."

"Email…?"

"Yup. But since when does the Witch of Shiz University email people?

"Hey, I'm not doing this. But why is my computer doing things on its own?"

"I don't know. It's your possessed computer."

"You're helpful."

Fiyero let his curiosity get the better of him, and he hit the "get mail" button. In a couple of seconds, a happy little beep signaled that Elphie did, indeed, have mail. Upon opening it, the two saw that it was from AngelofDarkness theLair .net. "Who's that?" He asked.

(A/N: Can _you_ guess? Because if not, I have just one question for you: HOW MANY PEOPLE DO _YOU_ KNOW OF WHO HAVE LAIRS?)

"Heck if I know…" Said the Witch, who was obviously enthralled by the emailing program. "Who's WickedGreenGirl theWesternSkies .net?

"That's _you_."

"Oh. Okay." As you can see, she doesn't really use her emailing program all that often.

The email said:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I was informed by a certain source that you are, indeed, the sanest character in the musical Wicked. I, myself, will not say that I am wholly sane (although I do have the best maniacal laugh EVER), but I would like to communicate with someone from your musical. It has come to my attention that something has become screwed up with the plot of my musical, Phantom of the Opera, and that it is now, in some way, a parody of Wicked. I was curious to see if anything is messed up in yours, and more importantly, I need to know if you know how to fix this._

_I remain your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

_Post Script: Have you noticed an increase in the number letter-laden ravens around your area? Particularly letters from a person named "C.G?"_

"This is a bit… weird." Commented Elphie.

"I'll say… Heck, I didn't even know that our musical was called "Wicked"! You'd think they'd name it something decent! Like… "Fiyero" or something. That has a nice ring to it," Fiyero said.

"Narcissist…" She muttered, and then said, "I wasn't talking about _our_ musical! And what kind of an idiot doesn't know what his own musical is called?"

"How many kinds of idiots are there?"

"You- Never mind. Just shut up for a bit, would you? I'm going to reply to him."

_O.G.:_

_Just out of curiosity, are you aware that you are conversing with the Wicked Witch of the West? And how did you come across my email address in the first place? To answer your questions: Yes, our musical is screwed up, and no, I have no idea how to fix it. If you are able to find a way to make the musicals normal again, please tell me how. I read ahead a couple of scenes, and I'm not too sure I like the idea of "All I Ask of You," and the Reprise afterwards. Glinda and I are friends, so that could make it a bit… awkward..._

_-The Wicked Witch of the West_

"I thought you weren't the Wicked Witch of the West yet," Fiyero pointed out.

"I'm not; It just sounds more menacing than the Witch of Shiz University."

Fiyero hit the "get mail" button again.

"Oh, look, another email. Um… Who is FoppingThruLife ParisPopulaire .net?"

"I don't know… It's sent to a whole bunch of other people as well… Open it."

_i got anothr 1 of those servey things… here are my answers… fill it out and send it back!_

_1. What is your name?_

_raoul!_

_2. If you could have one wish, what would it be?_

_that i didnt have erik as a dormmate!_

Etc, etc, etc, you get the picture. Elphie sent back an email asking who the heck was, along with sarcastic answers to all of the questions except for number 1 ("What is your name?" To which she answered "Sir Lancelot"), number 24,601 ("What is your quest?" To which she answered, "to seek the Holy Grail"), and number 525,600 ("What is the air-speed velocity of a unladen swallow?" To which she answered "What do you mean? An African or European swallow?")

Elphaba got several more emails by various people, such as AradiatheFopSlayer ParisPopulaire .net, BalletGirlMeg ParisPopulaire .net, and PrimaDonna ParisPopulaire .net (Gosh, I wonder who that last one is). She and Fiyero entertained themselves answering emails and trying to figure out how the heck a whole bunch of random people from the other musical had gotten a hold of her email address.

"Hey, shouldn't you be singing a messed up parody of Music of the Night?" He asked about an hour later.

"Yah, but this is much more fun."

"Let's just hope the authoress and her stupid chickens or ravens or whatever don't notice that we're answering mail instead of sticking to the script."

"Honestly, Fiyero, I think she was actually involved in the fact that all these Parisians are emailing me. It probably has something to do with her not wanting to mess up Music of the Night any more than she has to. She likes the song a little too much."

"And you know this how?"

"Hey, I'm a Witch. I can know whatever the heck I want."

_Wicked Witch of the West:_

_Ah, so it is you whom I have been given the part of! Just out of curiosity, when was the book you're musical was based off of written? I have not been able to find it in any library. I would like to know what's coming up in our musical. Have you, by any chance, gotten any emails from FoppingThruLife ParisPopulaire .net? _

_-The Phantom of the Opera_

To which she replied…

_The Phantom of the Opera:_

_Oh, it's you who I've been emailing! I have been given your part in this thing as well. And I seriously doubt you'll be able to find a copy of Wicked, seeing as you live in Paris in 1871 or whatever. Dude, just go on the internet! You can find the libretto there! And yes, I did get a very long and seemingly pointless email from FoppingThruLife._

_-The Wicked Witch of the West_

Elphaba was just about to open another email when a raven flew in and dropped about seven of those spiral notebooks on her head (in assorted colors.) She cursed at the raven as it flew off, and then looked inside the first notebook.

"What is it?" Asked Fiyero.

"It's just… for the first time, I feel… stunned."

"Shouldn't it be "wicked"?"

"No, I'm not going off of the Lyrics. Who wrote those anyway? I mean, do they really think that before track fifteen of a musical named Wicked, I'd never felt wicked ever in my life?"

"Um… That's a song, you know. But all I'm saying is that I did not write those lyrics, so there's no need to hex me."

"Actually, mostly I only hex people when I'm bored, whether they've done anything to me or not."

Fiyero decided that this would probably be a good time to change the subject, so he asked, "Why do you feel stunned, then?"

"That raven just dropped the rest of the script on my head."

"And that stunned you?"

"Have YOU ever had seven notebooks dropped on your head at once?"

"No…"

"Exactly my point." Elphaba referred back to the first notebook. "Okay, we're going to start from "Let the dream begin"."

"Why?"

"Because I like that line." She said, then stood up and began to sing. "Let the dream begin, let your lazy side give in to the power of the forum that we write… The power of the musac of my site!"

There was a musac interlude and Elphaba started poking Fiyero. "What?" He asked.

"You actually have to do something in this song." She pointed out where they were in the script.

"I can't make myself faint!" He protested.

"Fine. I'll help you." Muttering about bananas, tacos, and incompetent people, she grabbed her broomstick and hit him over the head with it. Apparently, she did it hard enough to knock him out, and so he lost consciousness. She caught him, complaining under her breath about how the heck did they expect her to carry him all the way to the sofa _and_ sing at the same time? She dropped him onto the sofa and sang, "You alone can crash my computer right… Stay away from the musac of my siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii- iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite!"

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**(Is it just me, or does that note seem abnormally long? In the movie soundtrack, not the OLC soundtrack).** ** Don't know if I can get away with doing this entire chapter as pretty much emails, but it's really hard do parodize MotN. But think of it, think of it this way… Next chapter, Raoul gets to do his own version of Popular! I'm thinking of something along the lines of Fopular, but I'm afraid I might be overusing the Fop factor… Any ideas and opinions about this would be much appreciated and all that jazz. :D**

**Anywho (Wow, haven't said that in like forever…) Review reply time!**

**Graceful Lee:** Thank you muchly for your review! I haven't really looked at the Harry Potter fanfiction yet, but I should do that… Good idea. I'll make sure to drop by your stories while I'm there. :D

**Ravensmyst: **Unfortunately, I can only kill off Phantom people permanently when the Wicked characters they are playing die. And Galinda doesn't die. Rats. Oh, well. I guess we need to have _someone_ for Erik to take out his anger on. And I tried to send the cake and ice cream through the mail but it wouldn't fit in the mailbox. And then I tried putting it through the CD drive on my computer so I could email it, but that didn't work either! And Galindisciples… I like that! I'll see if I can send the armadillo in the mail.


	14. Fopular

**I'm back! Again! Woot! Sorry about being gone so long, but come on, it was summer. Okay, so that wasn't the best excuse, but whatever. Anyway, for a lot of the past, what, month and a half, I haven't had internet access anyway. But anyway, here's Fopular, courtesy of the Fop.**

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**Chapter XIV: Fopular**

"Your very first masquerade EVER?" Squealed de Chagny as he shoved me into the dorm.

"No."

"Oh..." This concept obviously hadn't occurred to him. "Whatever… Hey, wait, I know! Let's tell each other a secret!"

"Why?" I asked, genuinely wanting to know what the point would be in that.

"Because I'm bored. And because I want to rub it in that Christine and I are getting married."

"WHAT!" I demanded. "She… you… WHAT?"

"Oh, she doesn't know yet," he answered casually. "Now you get to tell me a secret!"

"I'll pass."

"But… but… Pweeeeeese?" He begged, attempting (and failing) at puppy eyes.

"Eh… no."

"Oh, come on."

"Why and what do you want to know?"

"I dunno… Oh, and by the way: Call me Vicky."

"Why?" I asked again.

"It's short for 'Vicomte!' "

"I'll just stick to calling you de Chagny."

"Aw, c'mon Erik… Now that we're dorm mates, it's really not necessary to call me by my last name. Anyway, I've been calling you Erik ever since I met you."

"That's because you don't _know_ my last name."

"Oh, yah. Oh well! Also, now that we're dorm mates-,"

"We've been dorm mates this entire time," I pointed out.

"Fine," he pouted. "Erik, now that I have founded the religion of Foppism, I've decided to make you my new project."

"Do that, and I Punjab you." I said, fingering the rope menacingly. He glared at me, and I glared back.

Suddenly, another teenager ran into our room, wearing one of those blue sticky nametags that say, "Hello, my name is (insert blank here)." Only, hers said, "Hello, my name is Ravensmyst."

"NO!" She screamed rather loudly right into my ear. "DON'T PUNJAB HIM! THEN HE'LL TURN INTO A GHOST AND WALK THROUGH WALLS AND-,"

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" I interrupted.

"Sure."

"Go help Ali Lynn make the sea monkeys give me my money back."

"Okay."

She turned and left. I glanced at the fop. He looked slightly bewildered, to say the least. Actually, he was starting to develop something very similar to Christine's usual Dear-in-the-headlights expression. I waved my hand in front of his face. Nothing happened. I started poking him on the shoulder. Still nothing. I poked him harder. He tipped over. I poked him on the hair. He screamed girlishly, but was immediately back to normal. I cursed.

"I know. But I'm a missionary, so I have to convert you. You see, whenever I see someone less fortunate than I (and let's face it; who ISN'T less fortunate than I?)"

"Well, let's see," I began sarcastically. "You're a fop, you're somewhat immature and you can't sing. I'm sure there's NO ONE less fortunate than you."

He paused. "That's exactly what I'm saying." I had the urge to slap my forehead at his inability to pick up on my sarcasm. "My tender eyes tend to start to burn."

"Um, thank you?"

He continued. "And when someone needs to change beliefs, I simply have to make them think I know I know exactly what they need. And even in YOUR case, though it's the toughest case I've yet to face-,"

"I'm glad you realize you can't convert me," I said, trying to end the convo then and there. Unfortunately, he wasn't finished.

"Don't worry, I'm- well, I'll try to succeed… Follow my lead, and yes, probably, you will be… fopular! You're gonna be fopu-U-lar-,"

"Does it disturb anyone else that de Chagny is capable of Chenoweth's very feminine yodeling thing?" I asked the general public.

"I'll teach you the right techniques of what gossip to leak; little tricks to get your way (Bribes!)"

At this point, I started a vain attempt to inch towards the door. Unfortunately, he was still quite alert, and pushed me into my desk chair, draping my cloak across me, and tying me down with my Punjab. Soon he began painting globs of thick, cold, vile-smelling junk onto my head.

"What are you doing?" I spat.

"You'll see," he smiled happily. "I'll show you what masks to wear, how to curl your hair, and all the signature styles to be fopular. I'll help you be fopu-U-lar! You'll hang with all the right guys, you'll have a social life, you won't murder anymore. Now, what do you think?"

He spun me around in my swivel chair so I could face the mirror. "You… Made… Me… BLONDE!" I stared at myself. "You got BLONDE JUNK on my mask!" I struggle to get out of the rope, but the knots were too tight. Curses. "PLEASE tell me it's not permanent!"

"Oh, please. Like I'd make you a blonde. You look HORRIBLE blonde. I only bleached your hair so that I can put a better color on top. Because nothing's gonna show up on your old black hair."

I wasn't sure if I should be thankful that I wasn't going to stay blonde, or freaked out that he was going to dye my hair some color other than black.

"So let's start," he continued, "Cuz you've got a REALLY long way to go. Don't be- Actually, go ahead and be offended at your rank of foppishness." He pulled out a huge thermometer labeled "Fop-o-Meter." It was at 1.4 out of 10. "It is there to show how far to complete foppishness."

"You just rhymed foppishness with itself," I pointed out.

"Well, how many words do YOU know of that rhyme with 'foppishness'?" He challenged me.

"It's YOUR word."

"Yah, well-," He paused, trying to think of a comeback. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, now that I've chosen to become a pal, a roommate and dictator, there's nobody greater. Not when it comes to fopular! I know about fopu-U-lar, and with lots of help from me to force you to be different from who you were, well are… There's nothing that can stop you from be coming fopuler. Lar.

"Blah, blah, blah, blah," I replied under my breath.

"We're gonna make you fop-u-lar. When I see these social rejects, with organs-,"

"Do you have something against organs?" I demanded.

"Yes. -And facial defects, I suggest to them to possibly think of celebrated rich Vicomtes,"

"You're not narcissistic AT ALL…"

"And specially great- Hey, what rhymes with Vicomte?"

"Idiot," I said automatically.

"Oh yah, forgot about that one… Did they have brains or knowledge?"

"Not on YOUR life," I replied.

He glared at me. "Don't point and laugh."

"Too late," I said.

Deciding to ignore my last comment, he continued: "They were fopular! PLEASE, it's all about fopu-U-lar! Don't matter if you can sing, it's the way you're seen, so it's very cool to be very, very, fopu-U-lar, like me."

He stepped in front of me and surveyed my hair. "Erik, you're- Well, we've made progress."

He spun my chair.

Cautiously, I looked into the mirror. My hair was a very bright…

"MAGENTA!" I demanded as he started untying me. I leapt out of the chair, and began pulling him towards the door. "Okay, YOU have got to go." I proceeded to dropkick him to China.

If I was lucky, it'd take him a couple of weeks to figure out where he was and how to get back. I paused, reflecting on the events of the night. It had definitely not gone as planned. I was interrupted by the ringing of the dorm phone. I picked up, and heard the fop's voice, much to my dismay.

"Hey, guess what! I'm flying through the air en route to China! So now I can call you and finish my song! And though you protest your disinterest, I know eventually… You're gonna learn to bear it, your newfound fopularity! La, la, la, la… You'll be fopular! Just not quite as fopular…. As… MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

That last note was extremely painful. I was about to comment on it, when I heard a very sickening crack from de Chagny's end of the phone. Shrugging, I hung up and took off my magenta wig, replacing it with another black one. Only a fop would fail to notice that his roommate wears a wig.

* * *

**It's the laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast dayofsummer… :Sob: Anyone else seen Into the Woods? That there was supposed to be a tiny spoof of the Last Midnight, which is stuck in my head. And if you haven't seen Into the Woods, go rent it or something.**

**Alright, I'm cool. Hopefully this chapter at least somewhat met your expectations. If you have any constructive crit, review it at me, and I'll do what I can to improve it. And if you don't have any constructive crit, review anyway. No, I'm not obsessed with reviews… :sarcasm and shifty eyes as I try to figure out how to shoplift reviews: Anyway, right! Thanks so much to everyone who sent me all those hyper reviews; they made me happy! And thanks to you all for reading! Okay, review replies you know the drill.  
**

**TruPhan: **Unfortunately, I haven't seen Spamalot yet. I do, however, own the Spamalot soundtrack and the DVD of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and happen to think that Monty Python is one of the funniest things ever. Patsy and Lance rock:D

**Ravensmyst:** I hope you don't mind my inserting you into the phic, I just found your review so amusing. I tried a different approch to writing the lyrics this time, involving notebooks, ballpoint pens, and a sailboat. And has your armadillo arrived yet?

**Graceful Lee: **Thanks so much for your review! I haven't been through my inbox in awhile. I shall take a look at your phic as soon as I can:D Sounds highly amusing

**Alli Lynn: **Yo. Javert IS awesome, isn't he? And he has a cool death scene. Les Mis is coming to my city soon, and I can't wait to see it!  
**Graceful Lee: **Wait, you and Alli Lynn know each other? Cool! And yes, I was always under the impression that Snape was really cool, but then... :Shuts up before everyone yells at me for putting out spoilers:  
**Callie: **Of course everyone's fond of my phic, it IS the best E/E ever... Right people:silence:crickets chirp: Never mind. But I hope you like it!  
**Jen: **The world of fanfiction/phanphiction truly is an odd one...

**Naasjia: **Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, but yo! Thanks for the review:D And I agree, scalopatia do need to die. THEY ARE EVIL! (No, I swear I haven't had an unhealthy amout of sugar today) :sarcasm, woot:

**Readers, you rock! Reviewers, you rock even more! And Readers who Review rock the most! Yay! And yes, I'll be updating as soon as I possibly can. Which should be in a few days.**


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